Evolving Combat
by roman-five
Summary: There comes a time when the way a society wages war changes. At that moment, it must adapt or face extinction. During Harry's fourth year, change is afoot, and the wizzarding world is in for a rude awakening after centuries of stagnation.
1. Prologue

Sirius Black was feeling better than he had in decades. Of course, being reunited with your oldest friend, meeting your godson and being saved from a fate worse than death by said godson riding to your rescue on the back of a fugitive hippogriff would do that to you. It certainly beat 'lovely' Azkaban island. The chill of the dementors, the horrible food and the voices in his head telling him it was his fault Lilly and James died.

It would not do to think on this now, and with a jolt his mind snapped back to his current position: on the back of a hippogriff at 4,500 feet over the English Chanel. "Hold on Buckbeak!" he yelled over the wind, "Just four more miles and we'll be in French airspace. They can't catch us there!" His only answer was an indignant shriek, almost as if to say: "Of course I'll make it, you silly human. Did you think I would give up now?"

Sirius was painfully aware that the allies he had left were few and far between, especially on the Isles. Hence his decision to turn to the few friends he had on the continent, friends he had made during his travels around the world after graduating Hogwarts, during those carefree years so long ago. Traveling around with James, going wherever they felt like and getting spectacularly drunk all over the world. Just thinking back brought a smile to his face.

In the distance he could see the lights of the holiday resorts on the Belgian seaboard and the harbor of Dunkirk. As buckbeak began his decent towards some secluded bushes in the dunes he thought: "Belgium ha, I wonder how Felix is doing?"

* * *

Felix Miller was, as it turned out, happy to see Sirius again. When asked for his opinion on Sirius's guilt all he had to say was: "You couldn't have done it. You and James were close as brothers, I saw that much when the both of you had to be dragged out of the many pubs you visited here. There's no way you would have willingly betrayed him." He led Sirius to the bathroom, telling him to clean himself up and handing him a fresh set of clothes. After Sirius had showered, shaved and dressed, the two men sat down for dinner. "I'm sorry it's nothing fancy" Felix said "I hadn't planned on visitors and the wife is still at work, she's got the night shift" "Never mind, it's better than anything they fed us in Azkaban", Sirius answered.

After dinner both men retreated to Felix's study, a small room filled with a desk with computer and bookshelves lining almost all the available wall space. The bookshelves were filled with books on military history, with a few magical books set slightly apart. To Sirius it was obvious that Felix was not exactly flaunting his wizzarding heritage. "From the lack of magical works and the pressence com-put-thingie, I take that you haven't been able to find anyone interested in your ideas of revolutionizing the way wizards fight wars?" Felix shook his head sadly, sat down and produced a bottle of whiskey, pouring two glasses and handing one to Sirius. "God knows I've tried, but after graduating from the Academia Magica Lovaniensis, I didn't have access to any funding, and couldn't find a financial partner with a sense of ethics. I got a degree in history at the muggle part of the Accademia, and went to teach history at a secondary school, working on my magical projects in my spare time, but only the theory. But honestly? I've turned my back to the wizarding world, haven't touched my wand in the past five years or so."

Sirius looked sadly at the younger man. They had met in a pub in Leuven, where he and James had been sampling the rich palette of Belgian beers. Felix had been working in that pub as assistant-barkeeper, in order to earn a little money to help pay the rent. In hindsight, that had been a good thing, as he and James ended up terribly intoxicated and had started preforming magic in front of a pub full of muggles. Only Felix's swift Oblviate and two stunners had preserved the statute of secrecy. He had dragged them of to his place where they could sleep it of, and the three had become friends over breakfast. Felix spoke English well, being the son of a English muggleborn and an Indonesian/Dutch witch, who had fled the ex-colony in the 50's, and he was very passionate about his favorite subject: storage and flow of magical energy through runes, especially how they could be used for high-powered magical devices, and how they would revolutionize wizzarding fights. After a couple of days the two traveled on, but not before taking note of each other's addresses, and promising to stay in touch. The last time Sirius had seen Felix was at James wedding. He had been having a passionate discussion with both Lilly and her uncle, who, Sirius recalled, was also a historian. What was his name again? Richard, or something like that. Oh well, it didn't matter.

Suddenly, Sirius had a brainwave. "You know Felix, when my godson saved me a few days ago he mentioned that he expected the Dark Lord to rise again. I believe we are in for a world of trouble, because the wizzarding world has been sleeping on the issue of fighting for way to long, and is in for a rude awakening." Felix looked pensive for a moment. "I take you have a plan of some sort?" Sirius let out a barking laugh. "Of course I have a plan, and it is a bold and cunning one. Since my father died I am the only heir to the Black family fortune, and I think I'm going to play businessman with it. You know, found a company. How would you feel to be head of R&D at Black Armories, Ltd. ?" Felix face split in a huge grin. "I'd be honored. You know I'm not going to turn down my dream job." he said. "Well, mr. CEO, what 'Weapon of Dark-Lord-Destruction' do you want me to get working first?" "Well Felix" Sirius answered, "I think …."

* * *

It was near midnight when both men finally wrapped up their discussion. "So it's settled then" Felix said. "You will handle the financial side, take care of finding us a building, as well as costumer interaction, sales and the like after your name has been cleared. I will be responsible for R&D and production. When we grow, we'll have to add more people to manage subdivisions, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Sirius stood up and began walking to the guest room. "Indeed. Now let's get some sleep, an tomorrow you can see if you can get in touch with some old colleagues. Get started on building a team. When I find a location, give me a list on what materials we'll need, I'll foot the bill." The grin he gave was almost feral. "Let's go give the wizzarding world a wake-up call they'll never forget."

**AN**: So begins my first-ever fanfic. I hope you'll like it.

The one who manages to spot the history-in-joke wins a cookie.


	2. Chapter 1

Harry Potter was certainly not a happy camper. For some reason, the universe had decided that this year he, once again, had to risk life and limb for whatever convoluted reason the universe thought up. More annoyingly, this time he had absolutely no hand in getting himself in this precarious situation in the first place. While it has been _his_ choice to go after the stone in his first year, _his_ choice to save Ginny from that Basilisk in his second year and _his _choice to go and save his godfather from a flock of dementors while the rules of time were out for lunch, it was most definitely _not_ his choice to participate in something as silly and pointless as the tri-wizzard tournament. To make matters even worse, there appeared to be only one person in the entire castle that believed him when he said he did not enter himself. Hermoine Granger. She had been the one that had pushed him to write Sirius about his entry in the tournament. She had been the one that remained supportive of him.

And that support had been needed, for the last two weeks had been the equivalent of hell for Harry. Three-quarters of the school hated him for 'stealing Cedric's moment of glory', Snape was even worse than usual, one of the people he had always relied on didn't want to speak to him because of some juvenile inferiority complex, and to make matters even worse Rita Skeeter had managed to get him alone for a moment, and he shuddered at the thought of how she would twist the truth around this time.

The voice of his ex-best friend snapped him out of his musings as he entered his dormitory. "There's an owl for you" Ron said curtly. Before Harry had the time to respond, Ron had already stood up and left. The owl, a large Eagle-owl, had dropped the letter on his bed and now sat waiting for a reply. Harry moved to sit on the bed and open the letter, but before he had the chance to do so, the dormitory door opened. "Harry, have you seen-" Hermoine began so ask, before she spotted the owl. She turned to Harry. "Did Padfoot send a reply?" she asked. He just nodded. "He must still be quite a ways from Hogwarts" she noted, instantly dropping into 'lecture mode'. "Eagle-owls are mostly used for international mail due to their size and stamina. What did he say?" Harry opened the letter, which, to his surprise, was written on parchment with a letterhead from a company called 'Black Armories, Ltd.'

_Dear Harry,_

_The Fact that someone has it out for you by putting you in the tri-wizzard tournament is disconcerting in the least. Especially if they had the guts and ability to do so right under both Dumbledore's and Moody's nose. However, I promise to do everything in my power to assist you to the best of my ability._

_To make sure we can continue to communicate safely, I had an acquaintance of mine produce a pair of encryption books, one of which you will find enclosed. Please encrypt any letter you wish to send me that contains secret information. The instructions to do so are provided in the book._

_Don't hesitate to ask for advice should you need it, although I have faith you could manage the tasks yourself. Let me know if you have more information about the first task._

_Your loving Godfather,_

_Sirius_

_PS. Buckbeak sends his greetings too._

_PPS. Try and get away for the Christmas holidays, I've got some things I want to show you, and some people I want you to meet._

Hermoine read the letter after Harry handed it to her and let out a sound of approval when she reached the part on the security measures. "Brilliant" she said. "as long as nobody gets a hold of these keys, the encryption will be unbreakable." "Good" Harry said happily. "Being able to write Sirius will make life a bit more bearable. Finally things are starting to look up."

* * *

Hogwarts, Scotland, UK  
22/11/1994  
1:00 GMT – T-60hrs

Unfortunately, the universe seemed to take offense to Harry's optimism, and in less than 2 weeks the situation had changed from bad to worse. First off, Skeeter's article had hit the papers. The amount of whispers, muffled snickers and annoying remarks _that _had produced was exceptional, even by her standards, and had been grating on his nerves for the last week. Next, Hagrid had him tagging along under the cloak on his date with madame Maxime. The revelation that he would have to fight a dragon, of all things, was not one that made him feel any better. The fact that he had only 48 hours to figure out a way to beat it did even less to relief his troubled mind. He had written Sirius about his 'large scaly problem', and could only hope he would respond in time. "It's all up to the cavalry now" he thought. "Because I seriously doubt if I can wing a backup plan in time."

Black Armories, Herstal, Belgium  
23/11/1994  
6:00 GMT+1 – T-33hrs

Sirius Black had been early at work that morning, hoping to begin working ahead a little in order to avoid the holiday rush. However, his entire schedule for the day went out the window the moment an exhausted Hedwig flew in. Sirius relieved her of her burden, and, after decrypting the message, nearly had a full-blown panic attack. "FELIX! Get me all division heads in the briefing room! We have an emergency meeting in 10!"

Exactly 8 minutes after Hedwig had arrived at Sirius's office the emergency meeting was underway. Present were Sirius, Felix as head of R & D, Michelle Bloch as head of the aeronautics division, Livia Olivander representing the arms division and Thomas Shields of the armory division. Sirius spoke first. "To start off, thank you all for coming here as quickly as possible. Now, the emergency. I take everyone here knows of Harry Potter?" This was followed by a series of nods from all present. "Good. He is not only my godson, but also our best hope for beating a dark lord that will almost certainly rise again. This morning I received a letter from him in regards to the tri-wizzard tournament he was involuntarily entered in. Ladies and gentlemen, we have ..." He checked his watch. " 32 hours and 48 minutes to find a way to have a 14-year old face off against a dragon." At this statement the room fell into a shocked silence. The attendees shot each other glances; this was nigh impossible.

"Well that's certainly difficult, but not impossible" Felix said. "Let's do this by department: Livia, do you have anything that could work?" Livia Olivander was the great-granddaughter of the famous wandmaker in Diagon Alley. She had been recruited only three months prior and despite being the youngest head in the company, she had already shown great promise in regards of producing more powerful battle-wands. Now, however, she shook her head. "I've only perfected the battle-wands last week, and those have nowhere near the power to take on a full-grown dragon. The LR, or long range series, haven't got the power either, and I doubt the range advantage would make a difference." "What about those multiple wandcore-things you were on about during our last meeting?" Sirius asked. "They were conceived for this exact purpose: to give a us a fighting chance against dragons, giants and other powerful magical creatures." He looked at Livia expectantly, but she simply hung her head. "Those are nowhere near operable yet" she explained. "Right now, they are as liable to blow up in your face as they are to send your spell towards your target. We can't use it, it's just too risky. And I doubt we could work out the kinks in the design in less than a day."

"Okay, so nothing we have in the weapons department is going to cut it" Felix said, voicing what everyone thought. "What about aeronautics? I've heard Harry is one hell of a flier." Michelle Bloch was a French witch in her late 40s, and had been working at various broom manufacturers around the world, including Comet and Nimbus. "I'm afraid my division can't be of any help. Of the Hurricane model, we only have two flying prototypes available, without armament . The heavier Lightning model isn't even airworthy yet. The Awareness project is a right mess as well. We do, however, have two Atlases in airworthy state thanks to mr. Weasly's assistance, but they wouldn't be of any help in a fight anyway. Besides, mr. Potter does not have the necessary training to fly any of those" "How long would it take to get one Hurricane flying _with_ armament? Would we be able to do that?" Sirius asked. "Non, mr. Black, I'm afraid it would take several hundred man-hours to get the Hurricane's armed. And even if it could be done, that still leaves the issue of teaching him how to fly these craft, they're not exactly your run-off-the-mill racing broom." "Dammit, that's a no-go too" Sirius said. "Thomas, please tell me we'll at least be able to provide him with some form of protection."

The big, south-African man smiled. "Well, it seems it's up to me to provide the first good news of the day. I will be able to get mr. Potter one of our standard fire-retardant combat suits, as well as one of the ceramic curse-proof vests. I know those were designed to block the unforgivables, but it should protect him from the talons and tail should he get close. It won't, however, do anything against the dragon's fire." "So, that leaves us with almost the original problem: how do we stop it from spitting fire?" Sirius was pacing in front of the briefing room by now. "I'd say that's our million-galeon-question" was Felix's remark. "Thanks Livia". Livia had left about halfway through Michelle's presentation to get everyone something to drink. Most drank coffee, except for Livia, who had discovered the power of the muggle drink known as 'coke', which she now drank every meeting. Everyone was deep within their own thoughts, staring blankly at the empty spaces in front of them when the silence was suddenly broken by a _Click._ Livia popped the can, filled her glass and send the empty can sailing in a perfect arc towards the bin.

Felix, however, only observed the trajectory of the can, almost in slow-motion. When he next spoke, it was almost a whisper. "I think I've got something."

* * *

Hogwarts, Scotland, UK  
24/11/1994  
7:45 GMT – T-5Hrs,15min

Harry walked slowly towards the great hall, unease and fear spiking with every step. He had been working with Hermoine to form a backup plan. It consisted of simply trying to summon the egg, and if that failed, to give up if they would let him. He secretly doubted whether it would work. He reached the Great hall, and sat down with Hermoine, Ginny and Nevile to have breakfast, but he couldn't eat anything. Never before had he felt this nervous, never before had he been this scared in his entire life. All his previous adventures had been spur-of-the-moment-things, without him having the time to feel afraid, always being on a clock of some sort. He was broken out of his brooding by Hermoine's voice. "Really Harry, you have to eat something, even if it's just some toast. You're going to need all the energy you can get." "Thanks Hermoine, but I'm not really hungry. I'll be outside, some fresh air will help getting my stomach settled." The three others let him go with a look of pity on their faces. "Everything always seems to happen to him, doesn't it?" said Neville. The other two could do nothing but agree.

Harry hardly made it outside, being intercepted by two men carrying a large crate between them. Harry, however, had only eyes for their dog. "Padfoot! Thank you so much for coming" he cried out. The dog answered with a happy bark, and a flying tackle. "Get off me, you crazy dog." Harry laughed. Getting back on his feet, he recognized one of the men. "Professor Lupin! It's great to see you. Did you manage to get something that could help me?" Luping caught his honorary nephew in a hug "It's no longer 'Professor, Harry. Call me Remus, or Moony if you must. And I'd like you to meet mr. Miller. He's your godfathers business partner, head of R & D at Black Armories, and the one that came up with the crazy plan to get you out of that arena alive." Harry turned to the older man and shook his hand. " Thanks for saving my skin. What's the plan?" Felix gave Harry a quick run-down of what he had cooked up. Harry agreed, and agreed to meet them just before the first task that afternoon, so they could help him suit up.

Hogwarts Grounds, Scotland, UK  
24/11/1994  
12:45 GMT – T-15min

"Ive absolutely buggerd things up this time" Harry Thought. "I just had to go and pick the nastiest, meanest and most vicious dragon. And to top it all of, I'm the last one to try." He was pulled back to reality by the sound of the whistle signaling Krum's task was about to begin. Just after he had left, Felix, Lupin and Padfoot entered the tent to help Harry getting ready. Fire-retardant-gel ... Combat dress ... Ceramic vest ... Boots, Gloves, Balaclava, helmet … swift explanation how to use the supplied devices ... one last check of all straps … The whistle sounds; show-time.

* * *

When Harry entered the arena, the audience fell silent, puzzled by his strange appearance. The first to regain their mental footing were the muggleborns, who recognized his attire as something resembling police riot gear, sans the shield. Harry turned to face the judges, gave them a mock salute and put on a gas mask he had been carrying around his neck. He looked over to the dragon, a massive black beast with a nasty spiked tail, looking at him with a look of pure rage. He checked the direction of the wind and smirked: the Slytherin stands were downwind of the dragon. "Let's see how you like this." He reached into the satchel on his left side, extracted a canister of some sort, pulled the pin and hurled it towards the dragon, where it landed a few feet short of the nest. Before the horntail could react, the canister exploded in a billowing plume of white smoke.

Actually, the substance released by the canister, which had the letters CR stenciled on its side, was not smoke. It was a cloud of a flour-like substance known as dibenzoxazepine to chemists and as tear gas to everyone else. The dragon inhaled deeply to send a stream of fire towards this human that had thrown something to its nest, but suddenly found it's throat constricted, while its eyes were beginning to brim with tears in a futile effort to counteract the burning feeling. Meanwhile, Harry had sent a second and third canister towards the dragon, Felix's words still ringing in his ears. "We do not know how the dragon will react to this stuff." the man had said to him before the task. "Under normal circumstances, a single canister should be more than enough for a single target. In this case, however, there's no kill like overkill." Harry saw the Horntail flapping it's wings in a desperate attempt to disperse the cloud that was hurting her, but the damage was already done. Time for phase two, he thought. He began throwing several smoke grenades, in order to further diminish visibility of the dragon. It probably wasn't strictly necessary, because the Horntail was by now nearly blinded by the tear gas, but Felix and Sirius had decided not to take any chances, and Harry wholeheartedly agreed.

As the arena filled up with smoke and gas, the dragon used the only sense it had left: it's hearing. When it heard several footfalls closing in, it swung it's spiked tail towards the disturbance, narrowly missing Harry, who had dived out of the way. He had one last trick up his sleeve. Pointing his wand at the dragon, he shouted the incarnation of a spell the team had come up with. "_Concusus_!" he yelled, swiftly shielding his ears and averting his eyes. The result of this spell was a bright flash of light that blinded the dragon completely, followed by a sound blast that would have been strong enough to destroy the inner ear of any human in the vicinity. Dragon ears, however are more resilient than their human counterparts, but the general effects were the same. For about five seconds, the dragon was deaf, and five seconds were all Harry needed. Stuffing the egg in his now-empty satchel, he broke in a dead run towards the exit. He stopped in front of the judges, holding the egg high for all to see. He had made it.

As he stood there and the peak of his adrenalin high washed over him, he turned around to survey the chaos he had created. The dragon had been stunned by its handlers, who were now using water charms in an attempt to wash off the powder and get it to settle, so they could approach the beast. There were gouges and claw-marks in the dirt where the dragon had thrashed in pain. Behind the beast, the slytherins were faring only slightly better, for they had gotten a face full of the tear gas. Students were crying their eyes out, and some were on their knees expelling their lunch. Madame Pomfrey was tending to the students. "Perhaps I shouldn't have used three of them" Harry thought guiltily.

**AN**: The _Concusus-_spell is taken from the brilliant fanfic "Harry potter and the nightmares of future past" by S'TarKan. Since it hasn't been updated for more than a year, I didn't think anyone would mind.


	3. Chapter 2

"I still can't believe you ended up in second place! The dragon didn't even touch you, all the eggs remained intact and you were the fastest of all champions!" The first task had ended two days ago, and Ginny was still annoyed with the judges for Harry's sake. Not that Harry minded his score, being perfectly happy to have survived the encounter with the horntail.

"They probably subtracted some points for 'injuring the spectators', Ginny" Hermoine noted. "By the way, have you seen Ron since the aftermath of the task?"

'Aftermath' was probably the right word for what happened between him and Ron after the dust had settled (quite literally), and Harry winced at the memory. Ron had accidentally caught some of the tear gas as well, and had spent the rest of the afternoon crying his eyes out. At the afterparty in the tower that evening, Ron had blown up at him, ranting about him 'betraying Gryfindor courage' by using 'bloody muggle methods'. They hadn't spoken to each other since, and while Harry missed his best friend on one level, Ron was much to stubborn and jealous for his own good. Harry suspected that he would have minded losing Ron more if he wouldn't have had Sirius. His godfather was safe and had invited him over for the holidays, now that he had a safe place to stay.

The bell rung, signaling the end of lunch, and the teens split up; Harry and Hermoine headed upstairs to transfiguration, while Ginny went outside for CoMC. At the end of the lesson, professor McGonnal announced the yuletide ball. Harry was not really happy with the fact that he had to attend the ball. For the first time in his four years of schooling, he had been looking forward to getting away for the Christmas holiday, now that Sirius had found some place safe.

"Mr Potter, will you please come into my office for a moment." Professor McGonnall stopped harry just as he was about to leave the classroom.

"It's ok Harry, I'll wait outside for you." Hermoine said, walking on and leaving Harry to face the strict transfiguration professor alone.

"Mr. Potter, I hope you understand that as a champion of Hogwarts, you have certain responsibilities." She began. "One of them is the traditional opening dance at the beginning of the ball. I hope you'll manage to find a partner quickly, Potter. It is expected of you, to not only bring a date, but also to dance. Do you have any questions?"

Harry felt like he had swallowed several pounds of stone, and the sinking feeling in his stomach only intensified with every word McGonnall said. "Eum, yes, Professor. Is it possible to leave for home the day after the ball?" Why, yes, mr. Potter, it is. The train leaves at 11 on the 26th. I take you want to go home?" Harry confirmed his desire to leave, and was shooed out of McGonnall's office, on grounds that she had "Still a lot of work left before the holidays".

Hermoine had been waiting for him outside in the hallway, leafing through one of her textbooks. "What did professor McGonnall need you for?" She asked as Harry stepped out of the office.

"Oh, just about the ball and the holidays. That said, Hermoine, would you like to go to the ball with me?" At her surprised look he added "Just as friends, I mean." Her face split in a huge smile.

"I'd love to Harry, but why? What made you choose me so suddenly?" At this question, Harry shot the closed door of McGonnall's office a guilty look.

"McGonnall said I absolutely needed a date to open the ball with, and since you're such a great friend..." he trailed off. "At least we're sure we'll have a fun time together."

She smiled. "Yea, I'm sure we will."

* * *

"Good afternoon everybody, and welcome to our monthly department meeting. Let me start by congratulating all of you for the efforts made to solve the dragon problem last month, thank you all for your efforts. First point on the agenda, let's see how everybody's departments are doing after our first half year of business." Sirius looked into the meeting room. "Livia, how're things in your department?" The young woman stood up and walked towards the front of the room, where she began her presentation.

"We've successfully managed to perfect the mass-production process of the battlewands." She held one up, a dark steel wand with engravings in its side, reading 'Black armories Ltd. – P94 – Ser. No. 11-1993-0001' in a industrial squared script. "Current production estimates show we could in theory produce around 6000 units a month. It's steel, inflexible but with greater heat disappiating capacity than wood, allowing more powerful spells at a cost of less control by the caster. If your regular wand is a tap, this is equivalent to a firehose. Each wand contains a core of 250 ml. dragon blood in a silver chamber engraved with runes. Spells fires by this type are about three to five times as powerful as those cast with a regular wand."

Next, she produced a wand that was noticeably longer than normal, being a good 20 inch long, with what looked like a half battlewand attached on top. "This is a prototype of the long range battlewand. It holds about the same amount of dragon blood as the P94, but in a much longer chamber. These are not ready for production yet, as we are still working out a way to accurately aim over the distances this was designed to handle. We are currently looking at a modified _Lumos_ to illuminate a target with a tight beam of light, but we've still got quite a way to go." The rest of the assembled heads nodded, and a few "Good job"-s were heard. Sirius raised his hand in question.

"Just one minor point: What does the designation 'P94' mean?" Livia blushed a little when she answered: "I know it's not very imaginative, but it's a shortening of Pattern 1994, because it will come out next year. It's nothing fancy, but I had to think of something at 2 in the morning."

Next up was Michelle, who came to the point immediately. "My team and I have managed to get the two Hurricane prototypes, designated XH-1 and XH-2, in the air with armament, and will commence flight testing in January. We will be working closely with the departments of Ms. Olivander and Mr. Shields to provide on-board armament and flight gear, respectively. We have also managed, with the help of Mr. Miller-" She gave Felix a nod "- to work out the kinks in the hypersensory charms of the Awareness, so we now have one fully operational and awaiting testing. The Atlas-models have completed their flight tests and certifications and are ready to be produced as ordered, pending delivery of the base materials. We anticipate the first Hurricane's will be rolling off the assembly line around May-June next year. We project a production of approximately 10 craft a month, if we drop everything else." This produced another rounds of nods and compliments, and Sirius thought the money paid to get her on board had been well spent indeed. They hadn't anticipated the aeronautics branch to become seriously operational for another year!

"Ok Thomas, You're up." Said Sirius, but Thomas just held up his hands. "I've got nothing to say except that we've got production of C-vests up to 60 a month, and are now working on some angles to reduce costs. Perhaps a cheaper and lighter model."

Felix was last to give a performance update. "Apart from the Awareness, I've spent most of my time looking for prospective clients. Magical governments of Japan, the US, France and Germany have expressed interest in several of our products, with the vests being most popular. Most of them regard our 'experiments' in aerial combat with interest, but none of them has bought anything yet, although the Americans wanted to take an option to pre-order two Hurricanes for evaluation. The Russians and Chinese were more interested in our battle-wands, and wanted to buy five each for performance trials. More important, however, is that we are invited to a meeting with the British head DMLE, and some other people tomorrow. We don't officially know what's going on, but rumor has it the head of the Unspeakebles will also be in attendance."

At that news, the room fell silent. The Unspeakables almost never left their department, even for meetings, and the cases where an inter-departemental collaboration involved them could be counted on one hand, with digits to spare. If they were somehow involved, it meant something big was about to happen. "Well, we'll see about that tomorrow" said Sirius, breaking the silence. "Now, before I bore you all to death with the financial statements, what about a little break."

* * *

In a nondescript meeting room in a classified location somewhere in the British isles met a strange party, led by Madam Bones, the head of DMLE. Also in attendance were a man who was only known only as 'R', the head of the unspeakables, a party of Aurors including Kingsley and Tonks, two or three Hit-Wizards and Felix Miller as representative of Black Armories. It was Amelia Bones who opened the meeting.

"Welcome, to all of you. We're assembled here today to discuss something that, and I can't stress this enough, _can not leave this room_. Is everyone clear on that?" Everybody in the room nodded. "Good, let's go for a short trip down memory lane first. Throughout the 70's, a dark wizard named Tom Riddle, alias: Voldemort-" a few of the attendee's flinched slightly "-was running rampant through our world. The only group to consistently win victories against him, or at leas fight him to standstll, were a vigilante organization known as 'the order of the phoenix', led by Albus Dumbledore. Our goal is to create an official equivalent to them."

The assembly looked impressed; the Order was almost legendary, and to live up to such standards would be a challenge in and of itself. It certainly looked like they were in for an interesting time.

"The items dicussed here today will only be known to the head of DMLE and the Head of Unspeakebles, which we are oficialy part of. _This means the Minister of magic himself_ is out of the loop on this. The existance of this group is classefied until first contact with the enemy. After that time, a new department will be created in the Ministry, the Department of War and Defence. DOWAD will be called in the moment 'aprehending' is no longer priority, and in case we get involved in international conflicts. Until then, we will be known as the 'firestorm project' in internal MoM documents. Our base of operations will be located on the Isle of Man: nice and central with few muggles around."

Her eyes passed everyone in the room. "You have all been chosen because you have a special set of skills and capabilities. For example Auror Tonks here-" Tonks looked up, only to avert her eyes as those of evryone in the room fell on her. "- is an expert flier, about the best chaser and team captain Hufflepuff has had in the last century. Becouse of this, you, auror Tonks, are offerd the post of squadron leader. Your resposibilities, should you chose to accept, are to assamble a unit of broom-flying wariors and train them in air-to-air and air-to-ground combat."

Tonks was elated. The only place she never had to worry aabout her clumsiness was on a broom, and this posting would alow her to fly to her hearts content. The additional pay of a leading function was a nice bonus. "I accept, director Bones." was all she could mannage.

"Perfect, during the secont part of our meeting Mr. Miller wil discuss our equipment. He undoubtably has something nice in store for you. You will be working closely with your new colegue, sqadron leader Amanda Bigglesworth." Acros the room, a young woman with brown hair nodded to her. "Between the two of you, I have faith we'll have something running in about a year."

Madam bones paused to take a sip of water from the glass in front of her. "Auror-Instructor Shaklebolt, Hit-Wizard Churchill, I want the two of you to take control over infanty and their training. I'm sure the two of you can figure something out. One of you will be Major and handle administrative duties, the other will be Lieutenant and handle field command. I'm letting the two of you decide who gets what." Both men grined at eachother. They had worked together splendedly in the past, and both were looking foreward to their new posting. "Pick your recruits from the Aurors and the last-year Hogwarts students, but approach that last group carefully. Ask the unspeakables for advice if you need to. Be advised, you will be disguised as a muggle army unit, the 23rd regiment of the teritorial army, though you will only fill one company. Which reminds me: Sqn Ldrs, you will be operating under the guise of the muggle RAF too, as the 707th Sqn. Now before the break, are there any questions?"

Tonks raised her hand. "Yes, Sqn. Ldr. Tonks?" "Excuse me madam, but why are we doing this, and why now?" The answer came from the silent man with a hood that obscured his face; the head of the unspeakebles.

"We act now, Sqn. Ldr Tonks, becouse of a prophecy made about Harry Potter. It has been foretold that he is the only one that can defeat Tom Riddle permanently. It, however, says nothing on the subject of his followers, nor does it say anything about injuring him, meaning we can do both. Our task basicly boild down to carve a path for him through Riddle's forces. With regard to the timing, ever since Mr. Potter has started Hogwarts there have been a string of incidents, and it seems something is afoot. We have decided to take the old adagium that 'once is coincidence, twice is bad luck, three times is enemy action' to heart, and wanted to be ready for whatever is to come."

Madam bones ones again took over "Thank you, R. any other questions? No? Fifteen minute break then."

After the break, Felix took over the meeting. He had quickly flooed to the company headquarters, and brought back a suply of demonstration material. As he looked through the room, he noted both Tonks and Bigglesworth had changed into what seemed to be surplus RAF uniforms, The old WWII-era 'battle dress'. Churchill and Shacklebolt, meanwhile, wore army clothing: 'service dress'. Felix noted with a smile that Tonks had been forced to shrink herself in order to make the uniform fit, and that Kingsley wore the two golden pips of Lieutenant, with the purple barret of the fictional 23rd. He had obviously decided to stay in the field instead of take up a desk-job. In the next 30 minutes, Felix explained the new vests and battlewands, as well as giving a short presentation on the varieties still under development. Amelia Bones looked verry intersted in the vests for her Aurors as well, as they would greatly increase survivability. All in attendance were exited by the extra kick the battlewands would give to their spells, although all agreed with him that they shouldn't be made available to civilians.

"And now, my personal favourites." The screen behind Felix lit up with a representation of a broom, but most definitely no ordinairy one. It sported canard-like winglets at the front of the shaft, as well as a distict long 'chin', almost a foot long, with a wand protruding perpendicular to the shaft about a couple of inches below it. The braces normaly reserved for the rider's feet were intergrated in downwards-pointing triangles of dragonhide. It looked sleek, fast and extremely deadly.

"This is an F-1 Hurricane. Her top speed is 235 mph and she has a service ceiling of 35,000 feet. Her armament consists of one high-yeald battlewand and six Signature-Guided Magical air-to-air projectiles, basicaly _reductors_ with a guidance system and a maximum range of 10 miles. The pilot wears this suit to protect themselves from the wind and the cold." He pointed to a black flightsuit. "The helmet has been charmed to project flight and combat information on the inside of the visor, and the backpack contains a parachute and oxygen supply, which feeds into the mask. This mask also contains a comunications charm to allow real-time voice comunication between different craft." He looked over to the two squadron leaders who were, if fact, drooling a little.

"We will provide the first twelve craft for free, you can expect delivery in June-August. We will provide you with one of the prototypes somewhere around March so you can learn how to fly these beauties. Until then, the latest Comet, which is commercialy available, has similar handeling characteristics and would make a nice stand-in for flight training."

"However, knowing and control make up half the battle. Therefore we can also provide you with the C-1 Awareness." On the screen appeared a picture of a VW T3 Transporter, painted light gray, enticing some surprised looks from the assambled crouwd.

"These rugged craft were inspired by both the Weasly family car and the motorbike of Sirius Black, and are equiped with the unique Hypersensory charm, alowing the four combat controlers housed in the safety of the hull to follow and coordinate battles up to 200 miles away." The screen changed to a cutaway of the van, and the interior came into view. The image showed the four people sitting opposite eachother in a cramped compartment, with a massive console sitting between them.

"The console is in essence a rune-encoded, wand-operated device. Each controler has an overview of the scanning range of the hypersensory charm on the mirror in front of them. They use their wands to switch between different views, modes of display, and such by tapping the runes on the pannel around it with their wands. The operators wear these modefied head/micophone sets taken from a muggle aircraft for voice connection to the sqadrons in the air."

Felix turned to the two men in charge of the infantry. "Of course, you haven't been forgotten. Our range also sports a stripped-down version of the Awareness, named the T-1 Atlas." On the screen, another VW Transporter appeared, this one painted a drab olive green. A cutaway showed an empty interior with fold-down seats along the sides.

"These craft can transport six men or two wounded on stretchers above eachother. It's equipped with an invisibility mode to operate stealthily or in muggle-heavy area's, and while it's a lot slower than apparating or taking a portkey, it offers a way in or out if the area is warded against magical travel, as most death eater safehouses most likely will be."

Both Kingsley and John Churchill nodded. They had silently been wondering what the point of these machines would be, if one could simply apparate or portkey. Going in to battle without having to take down the wards first meant that they would have the ellement of surprise, against an enemy trapped behind their own wards. It also eliminated the need to regain your bearings, as a portkey would force you to do. The more they thought on it, the more they began to like the idea. Tonks, her father being muggleborn and therefore slightly knowlegable about cars, had just one last question. "Why Volkswagen Transporters?"

At this question, Felix chuckled. "I could go on about German reliability, or how it has a nice aerodinamic shape and all, but to be honest, it was just what I had in my garage at the time."

Amelia Bones closed the meeting. "So it's settled then. After the christmas holliday, you will begin your new assignments. Let's introduce our world to a new way of fighting. By striking from the air in coördination with well-trained ground forces that pull no punches, we'll force Riddle to meet us on our own terms. If we do this right, he'll have no idea what hit him."

**AN:** sorry for the lack of action so far, i'm just setting the stage for now. After his resurrection, Voldie is in for a few nasty surprises. The next chapter will have to wait for a wile, i'll be taking my re-sits in the coming weeks, which leaves me little time to write.

**EDIT:** Incorporated new formatting to increase readability.


	4. Chapter 3

On the cold, dark morning of the 26th of December 1993, a warm and happy Harry Potter lay in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory in Hogwarts, being completely content about the last few days and the immediate future. It had begun with the ball yesterday evening. Great food, good music and the best company at the ball made for a wonderful -one would almost say _magical_- night. Truth be told though, Hermoine had looked absolutely stunning in her dress. They had great fun last night, talking and dancing together, occasionally swapping with Neville who had invited Ginny. She hadn't been the only Weaslys in attendance, for Fred and George had shown up with the Gryffindor chasers. Ron had only attended the meal, but left shortly afterwards, as Ginny said "probably to sulk in a corner". When the evening wore on, they hadn't spared him another thought, and the hours had become a blur in his mind.

'I'd better get up if I want to make the train on time', Harry thought after checking his alarm and noting it was 9:23 already.

After taking a quick shower, he went down to the common room, noting in passing Ron's bedcurtains were still closed, some muffled snoring coming from within. It was probably a good thing, because getting into a yelling match with Ron would ruin this perfectly fine morning.

When he came down the stairs, he saw Hermoine sitting on the couch near the fireplace, and smiled to himself. She had always been an early riser, even during the holidays.

"Good Morning Hermoine, Did you sleep well?" He asked. "Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

Hermoine smiled brightly at him. "Good morning to you Harry. I slept great, but after such a night, that's only to be expected." She answered. "I had a great time last night, so thanks for that, I guess."

"On the contrary, Ms. Granger, I believe it is I who should express my gratitude towards you for gracing me with your presence during last night's outing" Harry answered in a mock-Victorian voice.

Hermoine glared at him. "You're making fun of me aren't you?"

"Perhaps" Harry answered, "Perhaps not. That said, shall we go down for breakfast? We've got a train to catch."

"You're incorrigible." She laughed, while following him though the portaithole towards the Great hall.

Both teens ate a hearty breakfast, although they noticed several of the older students taking very light meals, occasionally with their head in their hands and shielding their bloodshot eyes from the light of the rising sun that was just starting to fill the hall. Hermoine looked slightly amused, before she said: "Well, it seems _someone's_ got a hangover."

Across of them, a pair of very bleary Weasly twins sat down. Both looked like they had spent the last 24 hours in Las Vegas instead of a school ball. "What on the face of God's green earth happened to the two of you?" Harry asked, not sure if he would even want to know the answer.

"We had our post-ball Gryffindor afterparty." The left twin answered.

"It was great fun, until we started the drinking games. After that, everything gets blurry in my mind." The right twin continued. "Say, Fred, why did we do that again?"

"I believe we thought it was a good idea at the time. I'm not exactly clear on what we thought again. I know the answer's in here somewhere, but I can't concentrate on it with this pounding in my head." George groaned in answer to his twin's question.

"Well it serves you right for drinking too much last night." Hermoine said, slightly louder than strictly necessary, and the twins winced at the sound. "Are you going home for the remainder of the holiday too?"

Fred shook his head slowly. "No, mom and dad are visiting Bill in Egypt, this Christmas. Something about him thinking about moving back to England. But that means we're stuck here."

They ate the rest of their breakfasts in silence, apart from the grunted replies of 'mornin' whenever a familiar face passed by. They went back upstairs to grab their suitcases, and Harry and Hermoine faced off against each other in a game of chess. He had to admit that it was much more fun if you weren't overclassed by your opponent. In the end, she won, but it had been much closer than usual, and she hadn't been as obnoxiously smug about it as Ron would have been.

Around 10:30, Harry and Hermoine were joined at the front doors by Neville, who was going home to his grandmother. The three friends managed to find a compartment for themselves, and spent the trip reading, talking about the ball, playing some games and, in Hermoine's case, nagging about Harry's egg.

He was picked up from the station by Felix and Remus Lupin, who had been sent a message by Sirius informing him his honorary nephew might need an escort. Harry greeted both men, but especially the older werewolf, warmly. They had brought a portkey to get them back to the Black Armouries production plant across the Chanel. Harry said his goodbyes to his friends, then disappeared from existence to be flung through time and space towards his godfather.

* * *

While harry was enjoying his trip towards London, Albus Dumbledore stood on the balcony of his office, staring out over the grounds of his beloved castle. He was in a pensive mood, his thoughts focused entirely on the enigma that the young Mr. Potter had become.

The plan he had in store for him had been so easy: allow him a semi-normal childhood, provide him with a little training -for which this year's tournament provided an excellent stepping stone, even if it hadn't been the original plan- in offensive magic to put him on par with Riddle's 'inner circle', point him towards Tom Riddle and his followers, and watch him take out as many Death Eaters as possible before dying at the hands of the dark lord, destroying the Horcrux and voiding the prophecy in the process. Some would call it cold and unfeeling, however to Dumbledore it was simply the sacrifice of a knight to force the game into checkmate. He justified his deeds by saying it was for the Greater Good, and that he would make Harry's death as swift and painless as possible, and allowing him happiness in the innocence of his youth. It saddened him, but it was necessary.

* * *

Harry appeared from the magical vortex in a thicket of trees in a ragged landscape. Seeing hic confusion, Remus explained: "We're in the Belgian Ardennes, about 20 miles from the Herstal factory. We have made arrangements to be picked up." He looked to the skies, obviously searching for something. "Ah, there they are." He pointed to a shimmer in the air, just over the treetops.

Harry started to ask what was going on, but his jaw froze mid-sentence when a drab olive green van materialized out of nothing. If it's sudden appearance wasn't enough to defy the laws of physics and logic, it also appeared a good 20 feet above the ground, where it hovered silently. Felix gave the craft a short wave, and it began to decent, while its side door slid open. There, in the gap, stood the person Harry had wanted to see more than any other. His godfather stood in the open doorway with a huge smile on his face. He jumped out of the van before it had even settled on the ground, and ran towards Harry, while Harry started towards him. They met in the middle in a warm hug.

"I've missed you, Sirius" harry said to the older man. "I've missed you, and I need your help"

"I've missed you too pup" Sirius said. "And if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask. Although I can't offer you much advise on schoolwork, I can assist you with girls, quidditch and pranks." Both laughed at that last part, until they heard someone clear their throats behind them.

"I hate to cut this touching reunion short" Felix said, "But right now we have a van in the middle of a forest, where it shouldn't be able to go on its own, I might add, and the pilot informed me he saw some muggles coming up the road when he came here, so we might want to scoot before they begin to ask difficult questions." With that, he directed both of them towards their waiting transport.

Their flight to the factory had been uneventful, apart from the fact that it had been in a flying van, something more comfortable than a broom, and the in-built invisibility charm Felix told him about came in very handy when flying over the muggle villages that dotted the landscape below.

Right now, Harry was unpacking his trunk in the spare bedroom in Sirius's house, which was next to the factory itself. Still within the wardlines, it was probably the safest place to be for a British fugitive, especially since the Brittish Aurors were not stupid enough to force a diplomatic incident, on the soil of an allied foreign state nonetheless. The only way they could ask another country to hand him over, or even begin searching for him, was to send out an international arrest warrant, but they would have to submit the trial verdict to get it approved by the ICW's magipol. Which was something the DMLE didn't have, because Sirius Black had never been tried. Ergo, as long as he didn't set foot on British soil, with the kiss-on-sight-order in effect, he was safe.

Something gold and shiny broke him out of his thoughts, and as he pulled his shirts away, he saw the golden egg. He still hadn't figured out what the horrible noise was supposed to mean, but is was one of the things he had planned on asking Sirius about. Deciding there was no time like the present, he took the egg under his arm, and skidded down the stairs t find his godfather. He found him in the sitting room, in discussion with Felix and a young woman he didn't know.

"... Which means the armament is not going to cut it when they encounter dementors. We have to do something about that. See if you can modify the payload on the SGAAP's, that might work." He heard his godfather say, before he saw harry standing in the doorway. "Harry, how are you? Do you like your room? Can I help you with anything?" came out in a rapid stream of words. "Oh, and you haven't met Ms. Olivander yet." He waved over to the young woman. "Harry, this is Livia Olivander, Great-Granddoughter of the famous wandmaker of Diagon Alley fame. She heads the R&D weapons subdivision. Livia, this is Harry Potter, my godson"

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Olivander, and thank you for helping me with my first task." Harry said politely, extending his hand.

Livia smiled warmly at the teen, shaking his hand and saying: "The pleasure is mine, Mr Potter, and please, it's Livia. You should have seen him when he received your owl. We could hear him yell for a meeting on the other side of the city."

"He has a gift for making himself heard, Livia. And it's Harry, Mr Potter makes me feel so old."

Sirius shot the younger man a questioning look. "Introductions out of the way, what did you come down for Harry? Not that I mind, but dinner Is still a few hours away."

"To be honest, I came down to ask if you could help me about my egg. It's supposed to give me a clue for the next task, but all I hear when I open it is a loud screeching noise. Do you think you can help me?"

"Well," Sirius said "Let's hear it." After everyone had recovered from the screaming, Sirius had to admit he had absolutely no clue what it was, but agreed with Livia that it could not possibly be human.

Felix, however looked pensive. "I don't know what that is, but I do know someone who might."

The nextday, harry was given a tour of the factory, and he was amazed by what he saw. In one long hall, a massive production line of battlewands was set up, casting and hardening them, before drilling the chamber, lining, filling and sealing it. Then, the wands were send off to the firing ranged to be tested and boxed. To see so much firepower in one place was exiting, and frankly, a little scary. In another hall, woodworkers used lathes to produce the shafts for the Hurricanes. That hall was filled with the smell of sawdust and the sound of wood being cut, sanded and polished. It was astonishing sight to see the perfect integration of both worlds: Magical objects produced by muggle mass-production.

The next part of the tour took him to Felix's domain, the R&D department. In the labs he saw, there were wandcrafters, broommakers, potions masters and tailors all working on the latest gadgets in their fields. Harry was especially impressed by the wandcrafters, who had shown him a test of the MCP-7 multi-cored magical projector. The unwieldy shoulder-mounted device blew a hole straight through the 10 inch stone slabs it was fired at, and silently harry was happy it hadn't been ready in time for the first task. It simply wouldn't have done to invoke the 'chunky salsa rule', most of his classmates would have been traumatized.

After lunch, he met up with a woman in her mid-thirties. She had the same bushy hair as Hermoine, but hers was a lighter brown with blond highlights. She was slightly taller than Felix. Felix introduced her to Harry.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet my wife, Andrea Miler. She's a magical veterinarian, and I'm sure she can at least identify the creature you'll have to face in the next task."

"Thank you for your assistance Dr Miller. I don't know what I would have done without your help"

"Well, let's hear it then. I presume you have brought the egg?"

"Yes, Dr. Miller, here it is." He opened the egg, and, unlike most people, she seemed not startled by the screaming. He closed the device and looked at her expectantly.

"Before I give you my definitive answer, I need to verify my temporary conclusions. Do you mind if I ask you a few additional questions?" When he answered negative, she continued.

"Does your school have a large body of water near it? A lake , fjord, anything like that?"

"Yes, we call it 'the black lake', because you can't see the bottom. Dr Miller, is it something that lives down there?"

"Yes, I am quite sure the sound you hear when you open that egg is the speech or song of merefolk. For us, above the water, it sounds like a screeching noise, because their vocal cords are made to operate in a much denser medium than air. Compare it to how your voice changes when you breath helium. I presume the song is the clue for your next task. To hear what they are singing, submerge the egg and put your head under water as well. It will sound a lot like English then."

"Thank you doctor, I probably would only have found out a day before the task and panicked so badly I wouldn't have been able to sleep if it weren't for you." Harry said to her. Now all he had to do was find out what the clue said, but he would bet his left kidney it included staying underwater for an extended time. From the look on his face, Sirius and Felix had also arrived at that same conclusion.

"I'd suggest SCUBA gear." the younger of the two said. "It will allow you to operate underwater for extended periods of time, and it's not that difficult to learn its basic operation. If you want, I'll have a suit ready for you in a few days."

"Gillyweed might also work." Sirius suggested. "It'll last for about an hour, which, depending on the clue in your egg, might be more than enough of too little, although I would advise to err on the safe side of breathing time when you choose what to use. The advantage is that it's magical, so there's no need to learn how to use it."

"I think it would be best to see what the egg says first. If the tasks takes an hour or longer, SCUBA would give me the longest duration. If it's only, say 30 minutes, gillyweed is easiest to use. But first, I feel a bath is in order."

* * *

On the morning of the 24th of February, the day of the second task, Hogwarts experienced a little shake-up at breakfast. Halfway through the meal, the doors of the great hall swung open to reveal two wizards in dark brown robes with a black-and-yellow shield on their chest. The purebloods went instantly silent. MPS, the magical package service, was only called to deliver packages that were either incredibly dangerous, incredibly valuable, or incredibly fragile. The fact that two of them were carrying the crate between them meant that whatever it was, it was also incredibly heavy. Albus Dumbledore took charge of the situation. Or, at least, tried to.

"Good morning gentlemen. Can I help you with something?" he asked one of the wizards, who in turn produced a clipboard.

"Yes, headmaster. We have a signed delivery for a Mr. H J Potter. Do you know if he is available?"

Harry had already stood up the moment he saw the two men enter. Felix had warned him it would take some time to assemble all the items he needed, and he couldn't take it with him when he returned to school on the 3rd of January, so it had to be sent to him. Despite the fact that both Felix and Sirius had assured him multiple times the kit would arrive on time, he had been worrying for the past two days now, but both men had once again come through for him.

"That's me." Harry said, stepping past Dumbledore, who looked like he had just eaten something sour. He started to say something, but the delivery wizard with the clipboard cut him short.

"Good morning sir" The delivery wizard said to Harry. "Could I please see some identification?"

Harry handed him his passport. He had been warned to carry it with him because the MPS would ask for it. The man looked briefly at it, then nodded.

"Thank you sir. Portage and fees were already payed, so if you would please sign here and here" he handed Harry the clipboard "Then we'll hand this over to you and we'll be on our way."

Harry signed the clipboard and handed it back to the wizard, who tore of a strip from the bottom and handed it to him along with his passport. He thanked harry for doing business with MPS, then he and his colleague disappeared back through the doors.

Harry shrugged, levitated the crate, and began to walk out the door. He was stopped by the voice of the headmaster.

"Where are you going, Mr Potter?"

Harry answered without turning around.

"I am moving my equipment into position for the second task, sir. Since we have-" he looked at his watch "- only an hour left, I am afraid I'm quite busy."

Dumbledore was slightly take aback by Harry's direct response.

"All right then, Harry. Carry on"

Fifty minutes later, The entire school was assembled on the platforms that had been built above the lake. Ludo bagman used the same charm he had used at the world cup, and began to address the crowd.

"Goooooooood morning Hogwarts, and welcome to the second task of the tri-wizard tournament! Something, or more accurately, someone that is important to our champions has been taken hostage, and is being held at the bottom of the lake. The champions have one hour to rescue their hostages. ARE. YOU. READY?"

Harry suddenly knew who his hostage would be, realizing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he hadn't seen Hermoine yet today. Then, the moment the starting gun sounded, his fear was replaced with resolve. They had anticipated, and trained for, this possibility. Now, he had the motivation. He saw the other champions dive into the water, while he did a summoning charm on the crate he had left about 50 feet further along the shoreline.

To everyone's surprise, Harry began to dress himself with the equipment he got from the crate. He was just finished and wobbling towards the edge of the platform, about ten minutes in the task, when a dishevelled, bloody and crying Fleur Delacour came out of the lake, sans hostage. She began crying for her sister, but Harry was already on the move.

"DELACOUR, in the crate, a yellow cylinder smaller than the one on my back, with a package attached to it! GET IT!" he yelled at her. His diving instructor, Felix's brother, had been a commando in the Dutch armed forces. He had drilled into Harry that if someone began to panic at a critical moment, an direct (and loud) order often snapped them out of it for long enough to get out of trouble and to safety. It was no different in this case. Less than thirty seconds after giving the order, the back-up oxygen cylinder with inflatable life raft attached to it was strapped horizontally to his back, below the main cylinders. Another thirty seconds later, and Harry was in the water.

The lead weights on his belt began to drag him down, helping him get to great depth quickly. As he hit the bottom of the lake, he looked at his watch. _35 minutes to go _he thought to himself. _No time to lose_. He quickly set course for the centre of the lake, where he found Krum, who had partially transformed into a shark, biting through the ropes holding the 7th year he had taken to the ball. The place occupied by Cedric's hostage was already empty. The final two places were taken by Hermoine and a blond girl that looked about ten. She was obviously Fleur's hostage.

Harry first target was Hermoine. He used the diving knife from the sheath on his leg to cut her ropes. Next, he took the secondary mask he had taken with him for exactly this kind of situation. Attached to his main cylinders, this mask would, in theory, allow her to breath for the next forty-five minutes. The moment the oxygen became available to Hermoine, she woke up from the magical sleep she had been in, clearly startled by her surroundings. She calmed, however, when she realized that she was wearing a mask, the oxygen was supplied by a diver and the diver was Harry. She gave him a quick OK-signal with her hand. Harry showed Hermoine to grab his harness, and swum with his passenger over to the last remaining hostage. The moment he made to cut her loose however, the human excrement hit the rotary air circulation device.

Several meremen warriors sprung forward to stop him. Harry pushed his wand in Hermoine's hand, and cut the ropes holding the little girl. Based on the flashes of light he saw, she had gotten the hint and opened up with stunners on the attacking meremen. _Good to know she's got my back_, Harry thought. He then cut the weights that held him at the bottom, while simultaneously inflating the life vest he wore. This caused him to shoot upwards to the surface, but not fast enough, as he saw meremen giving chase. Holding onto the girl with his left arm, and feeling Hermoine still dragged behind him, he pulled the life raft and inflated it. The resulting lurch upwards nearly pulled Harry's arm out of its socket, as the raft shot upwards, dragging Harry and his passengers to the surface. _Good, they've stopped their pursuit. It would have really ruined my day if they had punctured it_.

The Three broke the surface with such speed they were launched a few feet into the air, and the younger girl awoke. While he got them into the raft and set course to the platforms, Harry thought to himself that he hoped the last task wouldn't involve going down into that lake again, for the merepeople might just hold a grudge.

**AN: Sorry for the delay people, I've been awfully busy with exams to sit and hollidays to plan, and this Chapter just didn't want to come out right. I'm still not totaly happy with it, but it'll have to do.**


	5. Chapter 4

Capter 4

Sqn. Ldr. Tonks was having a fairly good morning, that was only getting better and better. First off, the house-elves that ran the mess had made her favourite breakfast: The traditional English one. Next, her recruits had performed exceptionally well in both the drills and the exercises in formation flying on the Comet 9's they were using. And now, she finally got to fly the broom that had been promised to her when she signed up for this job. On the trimmed grass field in front of her stood a F-1 Hurricane, serial XH-2, ready to be taken to the skies. She walked towards it, helmet under her arm, while two 'riggers' were making final checks, prodding the broom furiously with their wands, while a representative -and a very attractive one at that- from Black Armouries talked them though the finer points of maintenance.

"Hey Wolfie, Is she cleared to take me up?" she asked Remus Lupin, who was just inspecting the alignment of the main weapon, when she was a few meters of.

He turned around and gave her a wolfish grin. "Ready when you are, If you think you can handle her, flygirl." He turned back to his 'professor face'. "Seriously though, she's in top condition, I'd almost say just of the assembly line, if I didn't know what stress- and G-tests the test-fliers put her though."

She nodded, then looked at the two trainees who were checking the tailbrush one more time. "Did they give you any trouble?"

He shook his head. "you've trained them very well. I just need to brief them on the shortcuts and little quirks we found during testing, but they adapt to them just fine."

"Good, when you're done, I'd really like to take her for a spin."

Just at that moment the senior of the two gave her a thumbs up, signalling the broom was ready. She put on her helmet and mask, checked her chute one last time, and mounted the broom, which was almost humming with power. The moment she put her feet in the braces, her visor sprung alive, and her helmet came alive with the voices of a flight of Comets that were flying their afternoon air-to-ground drills three miles out. The technicians left the vicinity as quickly as they could, while she changed the channel to that of the tower.

"Tower, Firebird one, Request take-off clearance, departing straight-out."

"Roger, Firebird one, Cleared for take-off, straight-out departure approved. Good luck"

With that, she shot of, just above the ground for the first 200 yards, climbing away rapidly after that. It was one of the disadvantages, and one of the things a trade-off had been needed for, she knew. Because of the magic pumped into the weapons and comms, these brooms couldn't 'start from scratch', but had to take a 'running leap' to get airborne. Once they were in the air, however, nothing could match them in climb rates, except maybe a Firebolt or Nimbus 2001. Those, however, lacked the altitude at which they could be flown safely. In other words: they could run, but they couldn't hide.

She levelled off at about 6,000 feet, and turned gracefully to the north. She loved the feeling of flying, and especially on this broom. It made her feel like a dangerous bird of prey, knowing that nothing in the skies could match her. A voice in her earphones put her instantly on alert.

"Firebird one, Guardian." She knew 'Guardian' was the callsign of the C-1 Awareness that was on a training flight over Scotland. The voice sounded rather nervous.

"Guardian, Firebird one, go ahead."

"Firebird one, bogey in your area, Heading 2-5-2, Angels 0-point-5, 6 to intercept."

She felt excitement bubbling through her at this chance to see what this broom was _really_ capable of: the short message meant that there was an unidentified contact to be found at a heading of 252º, six minutes away at 500 feet above the waves of the Irish sea, and she was ordered to identify it.

"Guardian, Firebird one, roger."

She turned to the specified direction, put her broom in a dive and opened the throttle. Her stomach lurched a little when the broom shot forward, attaining its maximum diving speed of nearly 360 mph. She smiled, for she was hunting.

After about five minutes, and at an altitude of roughly 1500 feet, she spotted her target, a heavy-laden flying carpet with someone on the back. 'Must be smugglers' ,she thought to herself, before reporting her observation to the controller.

"Firebird one, Try and get a closer look, see if you can identify the pilot."

"Guardian, Firebird one, roger. Closing to target."

The pilot of the carpet had seen her now, and was severing wildly to get away, but stood no chance against her more agile broom. When she closed to 100 yards, the second person on board decided to make his displeasure at being spotted known by opening fire. Tonks cursed and banked sharply left, and the stunners and reductors went wide.

"Guardian, Firebird one, They're shooting at me! Repeat, target has opened fire!" She yelled into her mask as she climbed quickly to avoid a second volley of curses.

"Firebird one, Guardian. Roger, you are cleared to engage, I repeat, you are authorised to engage the bandit. Good hunting."

"Roger, Firebird one out." Tonks confirmed the order with some nervousness; it would be the first time ever, both for a Hurricane and herself to fire weapons outside of exercises.

She climbed up to 1500 feet, and with a cold detachment, she activated her gunsights and brought the weapon online. Normally, she would have used the Signature-Guided Air-to-Air Projectiles, SGAAP's, but because this had only been planned as a quick training run, she didn't carry them. She looked down to the fleeing carpet. Those bastards had shot to kill, so she would be repaying them in kind. On her visor, a green circle appeared, along with range to target and other information directly passed to her from the circling Awareness. The moment the carpet crossed the tops of the cliffs of the Welsh coast, she dived down on her prey, pushing her broom to maximum diving speed, lined up the back of the carpet, and fired.

On board of the C-1, corporal David Blake saw the symbols designating the Hurricane and the –now identified- carpet close on each other, and shortly after the carpet crossed over the cliffs, it's icon blinked for a moment before it disappeared from the screen. He heard the voice of Firebird one in his headset, triumph and excitement clear for all to hear.

"Guardian, Firebird one, I've got him, I've got him! He went down in a massive fireball, must have been something he carried."

"Firebird one, That's a confirmed kill. Please head home before the Aurors arrive, I figure someone must've noticed that blast. Have a safe journey."

"Roger, Guardian, thank you. Firebird one returning home."

After that, the Hurricane on his screen turned tail, and began the short trip back towards its home base, flown by an elated Tonks. She had a report on combat effectiveness to write and a notch to put on her helmet: she had earned her first kill.

* * *

The last Thursday of May began like any other day at Hogwarts. Harry went down to breakfast, with Ginny and Hermoine, and ate breakfast chatting about courses and some article in the Daily Prophet about an illegal erumpment horn smuggling operation that had blown up somewhere in Wales. He also received a letter from Sirius, congratulating him on his performance in the second task, but warning him as well. _'We still don't know who put your name into this tournament and for what purpose, _He wrote. _If they want to harm you, which I am afraid is a very real possibility, the third task is their last chance. Stay on your guard.'_ All in all, it was a slightly ominous letter.

Harry got the first hint that today would be slightly different than normal after transfiguration, where professor McGonnall asked him to meet the other champions at the quidditch pitch at nine that evening, for he would be given instructions on the last task. Therefore, at eight thirty, he descended from the central staircase, met up with his co-champion Cedric Diggory, and set out for the pitch, Theorising about the last task on the way. Both boys had to admit neither had any idea about this last task, but they would find out soon enough. They reached the pitch and were greeted by an enthusiastic Ludo Bagman and the other two champions, who looked slightly less excited.

"Ah, our last champions have arrived, brilliant, brilliant. Now that we are all here, we can get this over with. Follow me please."

Bagman led them up the stairs towards the stands overlooking the darkened pitch. Despite the darkness, harry could make out some silhouettes on the pitch, but it was too dark to make anything out. From the looks on the faces of his fellow champions, they had the same problem.

"Let's turn on the lights, aaand, there we go: that's your final task." Bagman said, making a sweeping motion with his arm towards the now illuminated pitch. From the vantage point of the stands, they could make out rows of shrubberies. Arranged to form...

"Un maize." Said Fleur, the first of the champions to vocalise what they were all thinking.

"That is absolutely correct, miss Delacour. You will be tasked with finding the Cup, which is placed in the centre of the maze, guarded by fierce creatures and cunning spells. First one to get there and take the cup wins. Anny other questions?" Bagman said. None of the champions said anything, all thinking about a way to navigate that maze. Harry was the first to excuse himself: he had a letter to write.

* * *

Several hundred miles south of where Harry potter was writing a letter with the details of his last assignment to his 'support team', a nefarious villain was plotting his resurrection. Lord Voldemort was triple-checking the ritual he had devised to free him of this wretched half-life and return him to his former glory. No, not just as good as he was, he would be better than he had been in his prime, taking the protection that mudblood bitch had left on her son, that blasted Potter boy, and using it against him. He, Lord Voldemort would rise again, and the world would tremble before him. Just a few more months, and he could get his hands on the most essential part of his ritual: the Forcibly taken blood of his sworn enemy, Harry Potter. The scheme he had used to obtain this was his most cunning yet, and would come to be thanks to his loyal follower at Hogwarts.

And afterwards, by sending back the head of their saviour tied to that cup, he would demoralize the sheep that made up the wizarding public. None would dare to stand before Him! He would reign supreme! If only he knew what caused that nagging sense of overlooking something important…

* * *

Harry had to wait three days before receiving a response from Sirius, and, by extension, Black armouries and all who worked there. Hedwig arrived later than usual, just after dinner, which was probably best to avoid questions. Fortunately, he wasn't in a populated area when she arrived, but enjoining the sunset at the shore of the black lake with Hermoine, who sat a few yards away reading a book. His familiar carried a letter, and was followed by a great horned owl, who carried a package. Harry opened the letter first.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm glad you're doing fine so far. After we read your letter, we had a little brainstorming session, and you'll find the results enclosed. Let us know how they're working, and if we stumble across something else you could use we'll let you know._

_Stay safe,_

_Sirius_

By now, Hermoine had come over after she saw Hedwig returning.

"And, did Sirius reply? Did he find something? What's in that parcel?" She asked in rapid succession.

Harry smiled, and handed her the letter while relieving the other owl of his burden.

"Here, read for yourself. I'm going to see what gadgets 'Q' has sent this time." He did his best imitation of Desmond Llewelyn. "Do try to bring these back in one piece. And be careful with that" which had them both in stitches.

After they had managed to get their laughter under control, They opened the parcel. It contained a variety of items, ranging from a compass with in-built communications mirror to something that looked like a set of clip-on sunglasses, but actually showed magical- or heat signatures. The most special item, however, was a black plastic rectangular box about the size of a flute. It had a note, written in a neat feminine script stuck on top.

_Mr. Potter,_

_This box contains the latest experimental version of our battlewand line, the XP94 GP. It packs a greater punch than the standard P94, and customised for your use. _

_Be careful though, as it lacks the control and finesse of the wand that is matched to you. DO NOT use it for schoolwork, and always keep in mind these wands aren't available to the general public for a very good reason. That said, I personally believe you are responsible enough to carry one. _

_Good luck in the tournament._

_Livia Olivander_

Harry stared at the contents of the box. The wand was a blue-ish grey, with a notch on one side to accommodate the thumb, a minor concession to ergonomy. The handle was roughened, to give him a better hold of the weapon, and the make, pattern and serial were engraved along the shaft. It was beautiful in its simplicity, in its lethality. The most special about it, however, was the sense of power it radiated, and he couldn't help himself but try it. He picked up the wand, walked to the water's edge and pointed it at the lake. _"Reducto"_ he said like he normally would when casting that spell. The results, however, were everything but normal, and nothing short of spectacular.

Instead of the spark of blue that normally followed, a bolt of pure blue light shot out of the wand towards the place where he had aimed. It impacted the water and caused a pillar of white water to shoot up as if a Brick of C4 had just detonated under the surface. Harry, however, only noticed this when the water hit him, as he was more occupied by picking up the wand, which had been blasted out of his hand by the kickback. As a result, he didn't jump aside and got soaked when the water decided to obey the laws of gravity. He looked up to see a drenched Hermoine looking at him in awe.

"Be very careful where you point that, that, ... _thing_, Harry. It's dangerous." She stated the obvious.

"Yea, normally I get a fountain of a meter high at most, this one was almost three! I think it would be best to keep it locked up until I need it for the third task."

Hermoine couldn't help but agree.

**AN: I try not to make a habit of answering reviewers in my AN's, but I've received a few complaints about my spelling and grammar, so I'll address this here.**

**I am quite aware that my spelling is atrocious, both in English and my native language (Dutch). The problem is that I the people I know IRL who would like to beta are even worse at English than I am, While those who are better than me don't like Harry Potter/fanfics/betaing. To make matters even worse, the laptop I mostly use to write this doesn't have a spellchecker. While I do re-read my chapters on a PC that does have one before posting, sometimes things slip through, for which I apologise in advance. That said, I'm afraid progress will be slow through the coming months now that college has started again.**


	6. Chapter 5

The evening of the 24th of June came quicker than anyone had anticipated. Harry had spent the last month preparing extensively for the final task. He had been working on his physical condition by running in the mornings, occasionally while wearing what the girls had dubbed his "commando outfit" in order to get used to its weight and restrictions.

His magical endurance wasn't overlooked either, and Harry had spent evening after evening in unused classrooms or, if weather permitted, out on the grounds, firing streams of curses until he felt drained. He had now reached the point he could continue to cast _redactors_ for almost 30 minutes with his battlewand, at a rate of ten spells a minute. If he pushed himself, he could manage twenty-four in the same timeframe, but it drained him severely. Plus, he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if he were standing in it when he did that, so its uses in combat were limited.

However, not all of their projects were a success. A few weeks after the contents of the task were announced, Harry had struck the idea to do some reconnaissance of the maze; In a race for the cup, a map would be worth its weight in solid gold. So on an overcast night in the early hours of June, Harry manned his firebolt, armed with Collin's camera, and set out for the pitch for the first in a series of photographing runs. He repeated the process for a few nights at different altitudes, but was in for a nasty shock when he tried to fit the images together, with help from Hermoine, Ginny, and the twins, who were brought on board because they had a great deal of experience in magical mapmaking left over from their experiments to improve the marauders map. None of the images taken on different nights fit together, and they were left with several incomplete and inconsistent maps.

The mystery was solved after harry had brought a twig to Neville, who had easily identified the plants: _Ericaceae_ _Rhododendron Mobilis_. Also known as 'Roving Rhododendrons', these plants were closely related to their non-magical brethren, but had the tendency to uproot themselves and simply change places at night, making any attempt to map the maze futile. Neville told him the species had been used by wizards to make mazes, both for entertainment and as a first line of defence, for centuries.

Tonight, however, Harry would have to use all the skills he had acquired during his training to bring this task to a successful completion. Although Hermoine had suggested he simply take a single step into the maze, then sit down and do nothing, fulfilling the "competing" clause in the contract, Harry had not been enthusiastic about that idea. He had come this far, ranking second in the contest. Now he was this close, he didn't want to capitulate. He did, however agree that he wouldn't excessively endanger his life to win. Any time he felt the situation was out of his control, he would back out.

"Harry, Harry, are you there?" The voice of the youngest Weasley shook him out of his thoughts. "You looked so far away. Hermoine is fetching the rest of the 'support team' from the gates" she said.

"Thank you, Ginny. I was just thinking about how, after tonight, it will all be over." Harry answered wishfully.

"So you will be completely normal?" Ginny asked, then laughed. "You'll never be completely normal', Harry, so you'd better get used to it!"

He laughed too, then sunk back into his 'pensive mode'. Ginny said nothing; She, too, could see the nerves, fear and excitement that had taken their hold on him. Even after Hermoine returned with the guests, he remained withdrawn and silent. Finally, at eight, as Hermoine, Ginny and his other friends moved to the stands, Harry went to put on his gear.

* * *

Meanwhile, almost 200 miles south, Lieutenant Shacklebolt was sipping from a large mug of coffee. Following a warning from Dumbledore to the head of DMLE, the 23rd had been put on high alert. He had read the report on _That_ particular conversation.

"I do not anticipate trouble, Amelia" the Headmaster had said. "However, due to that unsolved mystery of Mr Potter's entry in the tournament, would you mind having a few extra aurors on call? It never hurts to be prepared, after all."

For those who knew Dumbledore, who wasn't nearly as subtle as he thought he was, this was as close as the man would get to admitting trouble was in the air. Therefore madam Bones had interpreted the request as 'some serious shit is about to go down', and planned accordingly. Both the 23rd territorial and the 707th Sqn. were on high alert tonight, all leaves cancelled and waiting in full combat gear, ready for anything to happen.

From his time as an auror, he knew this time of an operation, the endless hours waiting on alert, waiting for the call, were the worst. But he also knew his men were as well-prepared as he could make them. They had trained, drilled, practiced and trained some more for the hell of it, nearly endlessly over the past months. They were ready to get their feet –and hands- dirty, ready for the ultimate trial of both their skill and that of the ones that had trained them. He did know one thing though: Any enemy they might face tonight would pay in blood if he messed with them.

At that same moment, in a graveyard in a small and unremarkable town in Yorkshire, a measly 120 miles east from the base where Lieutenant Shacklebolt sat, the darkest lord in over a century was preparing to rise again tonight. He ordered his servant to begin casting the wards over the graveyard, constantly keeping an eye on his servant's progress. Muggle-Repellant, Anti-Apparation, Anti-Portkey with backdoor, Anti-mapping, every possibility was covered. Even an Anti-Animagus-ward, just in case Black had taught Potter to transform.

* * *

Hogwarts, Scotland  
24/6/1994 20:30

The Spectators were in the stands, the champions had been given their last-minute updates and the teachers had set out on their patrols: the last task of the Tri-wizard tournament was about to commence. At exactly eight-thirty, the whistle sounded, and Cedric ran off into the dark depths of the maze. Harry made a subconscious check of his gear: communications mirror … check, battlewand strapped to ankle … check, spell-orbs - 2 stunners, 2 blasting… check.

The spell-orbs were the most useful invention Black Armouries had churned out. They were glass orbs that were pre-charged with a spell. To use them, the 'caster' had to tap the safety rune with his wand, arming the device and removing the strengthening charms. The orb was then tossed to the target, and when it broke on impact, the spell was released. The brilliance of the design was that it allowed powerful or complicated spells to be used in combat easily, like the _patronus_ charm, or overpowered spells without exhausting the caster.

It was one of those inventions that form by having the right idea at the right time in unexpected circumstances. In this case, it had been a Friday night when Felix's wife had been called to deliver a unicorn colt at eleven. Felix, unable to get back to sleep, had dropped by at Sirius's place with a crate of beer and a few films. They decided to have a 'men's night', and Felix, Sirius, Harry and Remus stayed up late watching _Saving Private Ryan_, _The Longest Day_ and _The Dambusters_. Sirius had taken his inspiration from the grenades, and started working on it the next day.

The sound of the whistle brought him back to the now, and he heard Bagman announce it was time for him to enter the gaping dark mouth of the maze. He had no choice. He went in.

The moment he entered the maze, all outward sounds seemed cut off. The cheering from the stands, the commentary of Mr Bagman. He made his way through the maze as well as he could, navigating by his compass. He knew he needed to go North-east, and even though sometimes the maze did not offer a path in that exact direction, he was making some headway towards the cup.

His first challenge came when he faced some devil's snare. Using the experience he'd had with them in his first year, he tried the flamethrower curse, which Hermoine had found in one old book or the other. It projected a stream of fire some five yards in front of him, and the dangerous plant was quickly neutralized. He walked on and about three turns later, Harry found himself at a dead end. Not wanting to go around again, he prepared to cast the flamethrower curse at the hedge in front of him when he heard a clicking sound behind his back.

Around the corner came the biggest skrewt he had ever seen. It was almost three feet wide and four feet long, and it's upper body was protected by a thick, grey scale. It had seen Harry, and was advancing on him with its pincer held high. Harry pulled his battlewand, and fired a stunner at the advancing beast. Even though the spell had more power than normal, it still didn't stop the creature completely, but merely slowed it down. Harry pulled one of his red spell-orbs, taped the rune to arm it with his wand, and rolled it underneath the beast, where it detonated in a flash of characteristic _Stupefy_-red. This proved enough, and the beast fell still. Harry sighed with relief, and burned a hole through the hedge into another path. He was beginning to like the smell of the flamethrower on this evening.

Left, right, second fork, right, left. Time seemed to flow differently in this maze, and Harry had absolutely no idea how long he had been in the maze. He had seen no sign of life from his fellow champions, so he assumed they were still in the race. He had been forced to spent one blasting orb on a metal fence that had appeared to block his way, and his last stunner on a particularly vicious accromantula. He turned the corner in front of him when he saw it. His goal. The tri-wizard cup on a pedestal in the centre of the maze. However, he also saw another person sprinting towards the cup: Cedric had reached the trophy from the other side at almost the same time and, seeing Harry, had charged towards it. Harry started running as well: while Cedric was closer, he had been working out and was the faster runner of the two.

In the end, both boys grabbed the cup at exactly the same time. Harry was about to congratulate his fellow champion when a sharp tug behind the navel signalled the activation of a portkey that whisked them away to an unknown destination.

Graveyard, Little Hangington.  
24/6/1994 21:06 GMT

The moment Harry's feet hit the ground and the portkey disengaged, his senses went on full alert. This graveyard did not look like it was part of the tournament; For one, there were no spectators.

"Did you know the cup was a portkey?" Cedric asked, looking around uneasily. He, too, was scared by the gloomy atmosphere of the graveyard. At Harry's negative, he suggested to draw wands. In Harry's case, this was a redundant suggestion; The first thing he did after regaining his bearings was to draw his battlewand.

Suddenly, he felt a tingle in the back of his neck, the feeling that someone was pointing a weapon at him. He took cover behind a sarcophagus, while Cedric looked at him in surprise. He opened his mouth to ask Harry what he was doing, but was interrupted by two things happening at once. The first was a high-pitched, cruel voice saying: "Kill the spare." This voice, however, was heard only by the one giving the order and the one who was ordered, because it was drowned out by Harry's shout: "DIGGORY, TAKE COVER!"

The sickly green bolt of the killing curse sailed towards Cedric, and crossed the space where he had stood only a second before. It would have hit him, had he not, just in time, found sanctuary behind a tombstone. The oldest Hogwarts champion looked shaken by the fact someone had just tried to kill him. Another voice rang out towards the two teens.

"Surrender, Potter. You have nowhere to run to. The Dark Lord _will_ rise tonight, and if you surrender, he might grant you a quick death." Harry recognized the voice. The Traitor. Wormtail.

"Go to hell, you filthy rat!" was his reply, punctuated by a salvo of blasting hexes. Wormtail answered in kind, after that same cold voice yelled "Get him!"

While a salvo of cutting- blasting- and slashing hexes and curses flew overhead, Harry was struck by a brainwave so absurd, that if the situation hadn't been this deadly serious, he would have burst out laughing. He realized, in that split second, that this must have been what those men in the old war films he, Sirius and Felix had watched, had felt like. However, they, in the films, had survived despite being send into the meat grinders of Omaha Beach or Iwo Jima. Now he would survive using the same tactics those soldiers had used. First, getting organized. He decided to channel that American general on Omaha beach from _The Longest Day_.

"Cedric" He yelled. "Get your lazy ass over here! I'll cover you."

Cedric, understandably, didn't look too keen on crossing the open space between his tombstone and Harry's sarcophagus, which was about five yards wide. Before he could reach a decision himself, however, the tombstone he had hid behind made it for him, and gave an alarming crack under the onslaught of green launched against it. Absently, Harry noticed that Wormtail was throwing killing curses at Cedric, but 'only' stunners and cutters at him. He must want him alive. Cedric's tombstone gave another crack, and the side began to crumble. Cedric called out to Harry.

"Okay, on three!"

The moment his count hit three, he jumped from behind the tombstone and spurted over to Harry's sarcophagus, while Harry let loose his fastest barrage of _Reductors_ at Wormtail. No wizard alive can defend himself against ten hexes in just as many seconds, and Wormtail was no exception. He was forced to duck, and Cedric made it across safely. He found harry panting with exertion. Next step in Harry's plan: contacting reinforcements.

"Cedric, cover me." Harry said while pulling the communications device he had been given by Sirius.

"Hello? Remus, Felix, can you hear me?" he almost yelled into the mirror to get over the sound of curses exploding against their stone sanctuary, and Cedric returning fire.

"Harry! Remus here. What the hell happened? It's been chaos here since you just disappeared!" He sounded rather worried, which was understandable given the fact that he could see the spells flying over Harry's head, illuminating the night sky.

"It was a trap, the cup was a portkey. We ended up in some graveyard, but I've no idea where. Wormtail is here though, and he's trying to kill us. We've bunkered down, but we're not going to be holding him of indefinitely."

In the meantime, Felix and Amelia Bones had found Remus and appeared in the mirror. Felix had some bad news for Harry.

"You're behind some sort of ward which interferes with the simple locating charm on your mirror. It also interferes with the under-age-detection spells, so we've no idea where you are. Can you see any landmarks?"

After his negative answer, Madam Bones asked Harry if he, by any chance, knew the beacon charm. Harry was about to answer negative to that question as well, but was cut short by Cedric.

"I do. Professor Flitchwick taught us this year as part of our charms NEWT, as it is a good introduction in rituals."

Harry knew getting a beacon was essential to getting assistance. He made up his mind quickly.

"OK. Cedric, get working on that beacon. I'll keep him occupied."

The next minutes seemed like years to harry, and were filled with endless volleys of curses across the graveyard. One time Wormtail tried to get close and personal, but Harry's flamethrower curse was highly effective at convincing him to keep his distance. Finally, Cedric cried out _'Pharus Magis'_, and completed the incantation with an upward jab of his wand, which ended with him standing up behind the, now ruined, sarcophagus. A yellow beam of light shot upward as Cedric suddenly realized his exposed situation and dived down, while Wormtail used the opening to fire a curse.

To Cedric's credit it must be said he almost made it. Almost. The slashing hex Wormtail had fired hit him in his shoulder at an unlucky angle and blasted his left arm almost clean off. He went down with a scream, before unconsciousness due to shock claimed him.

Harry saw Cedric fall and cursed. Time had just become a much more critical factor, he thought, as he poured a vial of blood-replenisher in Cedric's mouth. Even with access to magical medicine, such a wound would cause someone to bleed out in no more than five minutes. It has just become critical to get Cedric to a healer. While he fired a few more curses at an advancing Wormtail, harry pulled out the mirror again.

"The beacon is up but Cedric is badly injured, and needs medical assistance quickly. What's the ETA for reinforcements?"

The answer he got from Amelia bones was not quite what he had hoped for. It would take at least 30 minutes for reinforcements to arrive due to the wards. Harry cursed and decided to scratch the last part of his plan, which had been "hold until relief", and go to the 'emergency step': taking an insane chance.

He knew portkeys were standard two-way due to safety concerns. That way, if you had miscalculated your destination, you could escape easily if you, for example, landed in the ocean. To make a portkey one-way, the creator had to specifically disengage, or subvert, the safety protocol. He also knew Pettingrew was a mediocre wizard at best, and if he had been in a hurry to make the portkey, there was a chance he would have skipped subverting the safeties. He also knew that the complexity of making a portkey work increases exponentially the more magical the physical object is, and that the triwizzard cup was extremely magical. That would be another complicating factor in subverting the safety protocol, and probably a hurdle Pettingrew wouldn't be able to take. The chance the portkey was a two-way was substantial, but entirely dependent on Harry's deductions being correct.

But it was the only option left. Out of his pocket, Harry pulled the last spell-orb. This one was pre-charged with a blasting hex, which fit harry just fine. He fired a _Concussus_ at Wormtail, and quickly lifted Cedric in a fireman's lift. Leaning out of cover, he tapped the activation rune on the orb with his wand and threw it in the general direction of his assailant, while he began running, weaving left and right, towards the cup, almost twenty yards away. Spells flew left and right but he avoided them all until, just before he reached the cup, he felt himself being hit.

The Cutting curse, a horizontal glowing knife of purple light, struck Harry on his left side. It sliced through his hand, removing everything on the diagonal from the tip of his index finger to the base of the little finger. The other end of the curse cut a deep gash on his left thigh. He cried out in pain and fell down, his extended hand barely reaching the cup and whisking the two champions away to safety.

Hogwarts, Scotland.  
24/6/1994 21:24 GMT

Harry fell flat on his face when the portkey disengaged and the impact of the landing on his injured leg sent a bolt of pain through his nervous system. Only now, after the ordeal was over and the adrenalin began to fade did he realize how much his hand hurt. There was, however, something more important to do.

" MEDIC, I need a medic, QUICK!" He yelled towards the now-silent crowd as he raised himself to his knees.

That shout broke people out of their shock, and a true pandemonium erupted. Screams, shouts, people running around in panic, the world-shattering _curse_ from madam Pomfrey on seeing Cedric's arm, the pain, that suddenly hit him from both his hand and his scar. It all became too much for his already overworked brain, and he collapsed in blissful unconsciousness.

* * *

Somewhere over Yorkshire, England.  
24/6/1994 21:26 GMT

On board of the first Atlas of the formation that carried the 23rd territorial into battle, Lieutenant Shacklebolt received the message that Potter had left the graveyard with mixed feelings. On one level he was disappointed; He and his men had been aching for a fight, a chance to prove themselves. When the buzzer had sounded, they had made it to the air in less than a minute. This news meant the chance for a fight had just dropped drastically. On another, more tactical level, he was happy; This had just changed from a time-critical rescue mission to a cleanup with potential hostiles. And at least Potter had made it out alive.

After the briefing that had set him upon this path, almost six months ago, he had continued to think about what he had been told about potter's role in the fighting that would follow. To be so critical to the war effort, at such a young age... Kingsley shuddered when he thought about how the lad would feel, about the pressure that would be put on him, about the very real possibility the kid, at 14, knew there was only a slim chance he would see 24.

"Pilot, what's out ETA to the drop zone?" he yelled over the sound of the engine. The co-pilot turned to face him.

"16 more minutes sir. We're going as fast as we can, but we've got a bad headwind."

Kingsley nodded. Sixteen more minutes to go.

Graveyard, little Hangington.  
24/6/1994 21:27 GMT

"Well you idiot, did you get him?"

Fetus -Voldemort was getting impatient. It had been almost ten full minutes since that moron of a Pettingrew had set him down to fight Potter, after first failing to kill whoever it was that had come with him. However, he was rather sure he had heard Potter cry out in pain, so maybe Wormtail had succeeded after all. Which would be a first. Wormtail flinched at the tone of his masters voice.

"No, My Lord, I hit him just as he grabbed the portkey, but he still managed to get away."

Voldemort exploded in rage. His carefully-laid plans, all in ruins because that moron had failed to do as he was told.

"Now what, you Idiot! How am I going to get my hands on the 'blood, forcibly taken'? Well?"

For once in his life, Wormtail actually used his mind _and_ gathered the courage to speak it. Weather it was out of pride for the achievement of actually hurting Harry Potter or out of cowardice to save his own skin, he told his master he had taken three fingers of potter's left hand with his last curse. Perhaps, he said, could they provide the blood that was needed.

After he had said that, Pettinggew was treated to the scariest sight he ever saw: Fetus-Voldemort with a cruel smile of true happiness. Because Lord Voldemort was happy. His resurrection could continue on schedule, his plans could be salvaged. It was time for the wizarding world to tremble once more.

Graveyard, Little Hangington.  
24/6/1994 21:38GMT

Lord Voldemort was back, and it had been a true pleasure to call upon his inner circle once more, to once more feel the thrill of casting the cruciatus curse on those who failed him. His new body functioned extremely well, even better than his original had. Now, after he had provided his faithful with his latest plans, he had just one last pair of orders to give.

"Wormtail, Rookwood, stay here and clean up all traces of my resurrection. We want them to find out only when it is too late. The rest of you, you have your orders, so move out. I will await your reports at our old base."

And with those parting words, Voldemort stepped to the 'door' in the anti-apparationwards and disappeared from the graveyard. His followers did not know where this 'door' was, so they were forced to walk fifty yards to the edge of the wards. Only two remained.

"Well, Wormtail" sneered Rookwood "let's see how much work you have left for tonight."

Drop zone X-ray, Little Hangington.  
24/6/1994 21:40GMT

"Squad weapons check!"

Kingsley barked his order through his craft, and he knew the same ritual, that had been drilled in the men from day one of the training, was repeated in the other seven craft of the formation. On the ninth, he knew, another 'ritual' took place. The ninth craft, call sign Pigeon 9, was a new model Atlas, fresh of the assembly line. This type, the T-1M was a dedicated medical atlas, and carried two healers, bringing the total of fielded troops to fifty.

The co-pilot flashed him the signal for 'two minutes out'. He nodded towards the man in response, then rose from his seat and stood in front of the craft, looking back towards his men. He gave the sign to stand. Each man stood, checked the backpack of the man in front of him, and grabbed the roof-rail to remain standing while the floor beneath them fell away as the craft began its decent. Kingsley opened the door, and was rewarded by a blast of cold air in his face. Beneath them, he could make out the individual windows of the houses in the village they flew over.

"In the door!"

He now had to yell over the rushing air. The first man in line, however, heard perfectly and took his place in the threshold, his battlewand firmly gripped in his right hand and holding on to the doorframe with his left. Next to him, Kingsley saw the indicator light change from off to red.

"One minute!"

They were now flying low enough for him to make out the individual streetlights and even the sheep in a meadow below them. Each man, unconsciously, checked his gear one last time. He heard the Atlas throttle back and felt the craft slow down. The ground was only thirty feet away now. Twenty feet. Ten feet, five feet. The green light came on as the craft came to a standstill completely, only a few feet above the ground. With a perfectly-practiced, lethal grace, the men of Pigeon 1 disembarked and secured the LZ. On the other side of the graveyard, he knew, the men of B-company were doing the same at LZ Yankee.

The second Atlas came in, and it's troops were about to take over guarding the LZ when someone yelled out: "Contacts!"

Private Williams was guarding the northernmost point of the landing zone, having placed himself behind a statue of an angel, when he saw two men in dark cloaks coming out of a mausoleum. Feeling somewhat suspicious, Williams leaned forwards and trained his wand on them, when the reflection of moonlight from his battlewand gave his movement away. One of the men, the tallest one, reacted immediately.

"Shit, Aurors! _Avada Kadavra_!"

Williams was just able to yell out "Contacts!" when the curse hit him in the chest and he was blasted backwards.

Rookwood was feeling elated. He had just made his first kill in the Dark Lord's service in years, and the rush, that usually accompanied the use of the dark arts, felt like the first high of a junkie who hasn't had a shot in over a month. His surprise, when the man he had hit crawled back behind his statue and called for a medic was the last thing he ever felt, as a split-second later he took two blasting curses to this chest and one to the abdomen. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Wormtail had just received the shock of his life: Rookwood, one of the most senior Death Eaters and Unspeakable in the department of mysteries, had just been killed in less than a few seconds. Worse, he hadn't even managed to take one of his attackers with him. Pettingrew knew he had to get out of here. Due to the fact that –his own!- anti-animagus wards were still in place, he had no chance to escape by transforming. Apparition was equally useless. He had to try and get out of these damned wards!

Lieutenant Shaklebolt saw the man that had fired the killing curse go down, while the other, after a few seconds, decided to make a run for it. He yelled out his orders to his men, setting them upon the fleeing death eater.

"Hostile, left! Take him down!"

But his order was unnecessary. His troops had taken their initiative and blasted the fleeing man's legs of with a series of knee-high _reductors_, and their target fell flat on his face, his legs separated from his body in a shower of blood and bone fragments. The first man that reached their captive turned him around, and called over to his superior in shock.

"Sir, will you look at this, It's Peter Pettingrew!"

Kingsley sighed, and then called for Pigeon 9 to pick up their wounded and ordered one of his men to get him a line to madam Bones. This would need some auror involvement.

**AN: Wow, The longest so far! We finaly see some action from Kingsley, and are moving to wrap up GoF.**


	7. Chapter 6

Harry slowly became aware of his surroundings, and quickly identified them as the hospital wing. For only a moment, he wondered what he had done now to land himself here, when the memories of the night came rushing back. He sat up and, ignoring the cries of "you're awake!", he turned to the person closest to him, who turned out to be Remus.

"Cedric. Did he make it?"

He felt slightly guilty for getting the older boy injured. The scheme was targeted at him, and Cedric had just been unlucky enough to get caught in the middle of it. Remus seemed to struggle with an answer, but after a few seconds, found his words.

"Easy, Harry, you have been unconscious due to magical exhaustion. Cedric did make it, madam Pomfrey said it was probably your blood replenisher that saved him. It was a close call, but he is expected to live."

There was only one question left for Harry.

"And his arm…?"

"It was too far gone." Remus answered. "It will be possible to re-grow his arm, however due to the extent of the damage, it will take at least a year, and he will only regain 60 to 70% of use." Seeing the look on Harry's face, he continued. "Don't feel guilty about it Harry. Wormtail fired that spell, and if it weren't't for you, Cedric wouldn't't have survived in the first place." Suddenly, he got a rather wolfish grin on his face. "Speaking about the rat, he died in custody, but not after giving a testimony of the events surrounding your parent's deaths. Sirius is at the ministry now to have his name cleared by madame Bones."

This managed to cheer Harry up: He could finally go live with Sirius! His mood was further improved when Felix, Hermoine and Ginny entered the wing and ran towards him.

"Harry, It's so good to see you're awake!" Hemoine begun. "It's been pure chaos since you arrived with Cedric. What happened? Are you both going to recover? Was it Voldemort? How did you get away?" Her questions came flying out of her mouth faster than bullets out of an MG42, which is to say, extremely fast.

"Wow, easy, Hemoine. Im fine, really. Pettingrew turned the cup into a portkey, but we fought him off. Cedric got hurt, but he'l survive. I got hurt taking Cedric to safety, but I'm fine now." Harry held up his left hand, showing the pinkish new skin of his regrowing fingers. "It was mostly exhaustion that took me down."

Hermoine looked at him, and pulled him in a firm hug and started to cry.

"Oh, Harry! You- You're my best friend. I was so worried you would d- die."

Harry returned the hug carefully, shooting Remus a look which clearly said 'a little assistance would be appreciated cause I'm not qualified to deal with this', which caused the werewolf to dissolve in a coughing fit trying not to laugh.

After both had recovered, Harry gave a rundown of the events since he touched the triwizard cup. His audience, of course, grasped at precisely the right moments, and when harry described how Cedric lost his arm, Hermoine started to cry again. After he had told his story, he asked: "So, that was my night, what happened here?"

"After you disappeared" Hermoine began. "We noticed professor Moody acting strangely, and after you collapsed, he ran to you and pulled his wand, but Professor Dumbledore disarmed him."

Remus took over. "It turned out he was a polyjuiced impostor, who has been impersonating him for an entire year, right under Dumbledores nose. He is being interrogated now, and Fudge is with him. I even think I saw a dementor, but I'm not sure." Harry's eyes began to droop again. "sleep, Harry. You could use some more rest."

* * *

It was almost two days later before Harry was released from the hospital wing. He had been ambulant from the morning after the task, but madam Pomfrey had kept him 'for observation'. He had spent most of the time sitting at Cedric's bedside, who's injuries were much more severe. He had been conscious a few times in the past days, and had impressed on Harry he didn't blame him in the slightest for the loss of his arm.

"You got me out of there, Harry." He'd said. "For that, I can never repay you."

Harry had blushed at the praise, and mumbled some thanks. Despite everything, he was still, at heart, quite a shy 14-year-old. Good news had not been hard to come by these past days. Sirius had been exonerated, and had used the occasion to immediately apply for Belgian citizenship, stating that 'these islands held more bad than good memories for him'. The ministry had let him go with some reluctance, as it meant another old pureblood family left for the continent.

Furthermore, he was told, in secret, by Felix the group that was sent to rescue him and Cedric, and who had captured Pettingrew, had sustained only two casualties. One sprained ankle, and one cracked rib from an AK absorbed by a vest. Both troopers were expected to recover in a few weeks. Harry had asked Felix to thank the men who had ridden to his rescue, for they had done a great job that evening.

"Harry, my boy." The voice of the headmaster brought him back to the second-floor corridor outside the hospital wing. "Would you please join me in my office. We have a few matters to discuss." Harry nodded, and followed the Headmaster to his office, where he was greeted by Fawkes.

"would you care for a lemon drop?" Harry declined politely. "No? Well, Harry, I find myself having to ask a favour from you." Dumbledore began. "The evening you were abducted, an escaped Death Eater, Barty Crouch Jr, was apprehended here, at Hogwarts. He told me, under veritrasium, about the scheme that Voldemort used to regain his body. I am afraid He had succeeded in his plans, and is 'back in the game' , so to speak." This news caused harry to curse violently. After Wormtail's words, he had expected a resurrection ritual, but he had hoped against hope he had been wrong. Apparently, he wasn't.

"Those were my thoughts as well, Harry, although in a less crass language. Unfortunately, he was kissed by a dementor before he could testify in court, and minister Fudge refuses to believe me. In the light of these circumstances, I have to ask you to spent your summer at either Hogwards, behind the most formidable wards in existence, or at Pivett drive, where the ancient blood protection your mother left you with will guard you from harm." When he saw Harry start to protest, he cut him off. "I know you would much prefer to spent your summer with Sirius, and I am deeply sorry by that you can't, but you must be protected. You are absolutely vital in this war."

"But Sir, me staying with Sirius abroad would be the last thing he would suspect. he can't operate as freely on the continent as he can here on the isles, where his power base is. Outside these Islands, he would have to operate with great care to avoid attracting attention to himself. Besides, Sirius home is very close to a military factory." He decided not to unveil Sirius link with Black armouries. that was his story to tell. "If he were to attack, we would have ready access to weapons to defend ourselves. Besides, why am I so important anyway? After all, It was my mother who really beat him last time, not me."

That last question has been a direct hit, Harry saw, because Dumbeldore paled visibly. He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples. "I am afraid I cannot tell you yet, Harry. The reason you are that important is tied to a prophesy, but you are not yet ready to be told. I'm sorry."

Harry's temper –he was a hormonal, rebellious teenager, after all- flared, and his next words were laced with venom.

"Very well, _Sir_. With regards to your first request, I must politely decline. Was that all, _Sir_?" He stood up, and strode out of the office, leaving a tired Dumbledore behind. How dare the old man try to tell him what to do without thrusting him to information that regarded _him_!

* * *

Sirius Black was sitting in his study at his home in the Ardennes, happy but exhausted. He was joined by both Remus and Felix. The three men were enjoying one of the finer beers of the county and discussing their day. I had been extremely busy, as the two Brits had applied for, and received, Belgian nationality.

"Honestly Felix, If I didn't have you, I wouldn't have known what to do with all those bloody forms." Sirius said, clearly worn out by the day's bureaucratic adventures.

"Indeed," Remus continued, "I feel like my arm is going to fall off from all the papers I've had to sign today."

The amount of paperwork both men had to sign was the result of a minor disagreement in the past: the Belgian Revolution of 1830, when the southern part of the once united kingdom went its own way. Because when the muggle parts of the country had separated from the Netherlands, the Magical part hadn't. They had nothing to complain about because they were, in contrast to their non-magical counterparts, well-represented in the government in the Hague. To explain this, we have to go even further back: to the independence from Spain.

Because the 80-years war overlapped quite nicely with the moment magicals the world over were going into hiding, and because the Dutch were a trading nation and used to striking deals, an 'alliance' was forged between the muggle and magical groups in the emerging republic. In exchange for military service, the non-magical government would work to halt witch-hunts against native magicals, and both groups would be given a representative in the other's government. The pact paid off for both sides, and gave the magical part of the population a great representation in the political system. Even today, it was customary for old magical families to have at least one son join the army, and it was the attained rank that was an indicator of a person's status, not the 'purity' of blood.

The result of this all was, that while the men now were Belgian citizens in the muggle world (with the papers to prove it), they were also Dutch citizens in the magical world, because, quite simply, Belgium didn't exist there. Now the paperwork was in order though, the men could begin discussing their holiday plans, and in the centre of it all, Harry.

"Well, Sirius, What do you think Harry would like to do when he gets here? We've already showed him around the factory. What do you think he'd like?" Felix began, launching one of his speciality 'impromptu brainstorming sessions'. This particular one lasted until the early hours of the following morning.

* * *

When Harry had, finally, made it to the Hogwarts express, he was in a fowl mood, and it definitely showed. When he walked along the train searching for his friends, several first years quickly sought cover from the look on his face. When he found them near the rear of the train, he dropped himself in one of the seats, happy to finally be underway.

"Another one?" Hermoine asked. "That makes it, what, the third attempt today?"

Harry just nodded. He was getting quite fed up with his headmaster. It had started Last night, when the headmaster had asked Harry to come to his office. He had wanted to discuss Harry's summer arrangements, but Harry had politely told him that it was none of his business, which the old wizarrd refused to accept, saying it was 'a matter of the greater good', and therefore his responsibility.

"With all due respect, professor," Harry had answered, "the greatest atrocities in history have been justified by using that term. I agree that sometimes, an individual's needs must be put aside for the needs of the whole, but only if doing so is an exception instead of a rule and said individual holds a veto on the measures taken."

Dumbledore, however, had refused to yield, and Harry had excused himself around one, when their arguments were getting recycled for the third time, and he was getting quite tired of the whole thing. The next talk came after breakfast, when professor McGonnal had told him Dumbledore wanted to see him in his office. Harry had made his way there with trepidation, knowing quite well what this was going to be about. And indeed, Dumbledore had once again tried to guilt-trip him into staying at the Dursleys. After harry told the headmaster in no uncertain terms he couldn't care less if they lived or died, the discussion derailed, and became a philosophical one on the existence of 'irredeemable evil'; Something Dumbledore refused to believe existed. After attempting to explain his vision that 'there was still _some_ good in Wormtail', Harry had become quite angry and stormed out.

The attempt to keep him from going home that had him seething, however, was the one only half an hour ago. It seemed that Dumbledore had removed him from the list of students to go home, and therefore made it impossible for him to leave. Harry had decided that if the headmaster refused to play according to the rules, he didn't have to, either. He had just sprinted up to the Gryffindor tower, unpacked his broom and flown to the station, cursing his headmaster all the way.

"What did he say this time, Harry?" Nevile asked. The two boys had gotten quite a bit closer, Nevile filling the 'hole' Ron had left. While the redhead was actually civil now, Harry didn't feel like he'd be able to put his thrust in the boy once again.

"He didn't 'say' anything, Nev. But he made his feelings on my summer arrangements known when he removed my name from the list of students wishing to leave!" Harry answered hotly.

"He didn't!" Hermoine grasped. Harry snorted.

"Oh, yes he did. I got out on my broom. Good thing the express hadn't left yet, or i'd been forced to land on top of it."

The journey home passed without further incidents, as Malfoy coming by to gloat wasn't so much an incident as it was a yearly occurrence, one could almost predict with scientific precision. When the express rolled into kings cross, Harry's senses went of full alert. By now, Dumbles would know his plan to keep him at Hogwarts had failed, and he didn't expect the man to just take his loss. He had been playing this game for far to long for that.

So it was a alert and cautious Harry Potter that disembarked from the scarlet train, wand hidden up his sleeve and ready to answer any attack in kind. Hermoine and Nevile had noticed the change in his demeanour just before the train pulled in the station, and were ,after he had explained, watching his back and in the meantime, looking for Remus and Sirius.

Harry almost cursed the man that grabbed his shoulder, saying "We're here, Harry." Quite fortunately, he didn't. It would have caused quite a commotion for sure, and while Felix might have laughed about being stunned, Harry doubted his wife would.

"Dammit, Felix, you almost gave me a heart attack! I hadn't expected you here, where are Sirius and Remus?" Harry almost expected something bad to have happened, but Felix put his mind at ease.

"They're preparing for your arrival and enjoying a date with a certain female, respectively. But allas, follow me. Andrea is talking with a nice muggle family over there-" he pointed towards the crowd "-And I think she would be quite cross with me if I left her here." Harry had to laugh at the older man's antics.

"The fact that she puts up with you continues to astound me." he laughed. "Lead the way, Felix. No sense in keeping them waiting."

They found Andrea Miller talking to the Grangers, and after a quick goodbye to Hermoine and Neville, the two Millers took the Potter heir outside to the car park, where thy took a portkey to the continent. And even if Harry didn't know it yet, it would be the best summer of his life thus far.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not happy. Harry Potter had escaped from the castle and made it to the Hogwarts express. By the time the headmaster found out about it, It was too late to do anything t impair the boy's departure. Owls wouldn't reach the train in time for it to respond to an order to turn around, and he couldn't apparate to a moving object. He briefly toyed with the idea of sending some members of the recently re-activated Order of the Phoenix to King's Cross, but discarded the idea almost immediately. Taking Harry by force would draw way too much attention, which was something he couldn't use right now, not with Cornelius refusing to accept the fact that Lord Voldemort had actually returned.

He sighed. Why did the boy not accept the teachings of his elders, who knew better than him? Maybe the link with Voldemort had become active again, and was it the presence of dark lord in his mind that made Harry act irrationally. If that was the case, he would have to keep a close eye on the boy. He pulled out some parchment, and started to draw the outline of a plan of constant surveillance.

The notion that Harry's mood and his response to Dumbledore, were a combination of pubescence and a certain annoyance with the headmaster, never even crossed the old man's mind.

**AN: That's all for now Folks!**


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Harry was lying in his bed the morning after his birthday, for the first time in his life feeling regret the start of term was only a month away. In this summer, there hadn't been any Durleys. No Voldemort-induced nightmares, and no forced labour. It had been, in all, the perfect summer, topped off by the perfect birthday.

After he had portkeyed from platform 9 ¾, He had been greeted by Sirius, who was elated to have his godson visiting. They had embarked on a week-long godfather-godson bonding experience, taking long walks and flying together. For both activities, the Ardennes were the right kind of terrain. Sirius and Remus even taught him how to fly the war-brooms he had seen during his last visit. The thrill of flying was even more intense when you could do it at speeds and altitudes no wizard had ever gone before, although Sirius hadn't let him on the latest prototypes, because they were still unstable. Nonetheless, the things he had learned in flying the Atlas would surely come in handy when he would try for his driver's licence in a few years time.

Later, they had spent two weeks in Rome with the Millers and Remus, taking tours of the great landmarks and famous museums. Harry found it really useful to have a historian with him, to provide anecdotes and background at the ruins and churches they visited. He expected Hermoine would have paid more attention tough, because he found himself tuning Felix out at times. Background information is fine, but not all day long!

During the second part of his summer, he found himself spending quite some time in Sirius office at the company. With his legal troubles over, Sirius had publicly taken the helm of Black armouries, and received several visitors a day. Harry spent most of his time doing his homework, or just reading in one of the books Felix or Remus would bring him, on the subject of Runes and Defence, respectively. He had seen what runes could do in the hands of those who mastered them, and was feeling stupid he hadn't picked the class. He did, however, decide to study it by himself.

* * *

Next morning, he was surprised when Sirius told him they would be going to the ministry that day: "R", the chief Unspeakable, had asked to see him. Harry knew the unspeakable were the most elite, and also most mysterious branch, of the British ministry. The closest muggle equivalent would be the MI5/6 branches, but the unspeakables did more. The research department was not unlike the muggle DERA, and it was rumoured they were also responsible for safeguarding the Sovereign from any magical assault. While Harry didn't particularly feel happy going back to Britain, he knew he had no real choice. If the head of unspeakables wanted to see you, you showed up.

They were led through the atrium by a man in a hooded cloak with crimson trimmings, who's badge had identified him as Charlie. Everyone in the atrium stepped aside when he led the way, and nobody followed them into the elevator. Only when they were alone, he got more talkative than the four words (Black, Potter. Follow me.) he had said to them in public.

"That never get's old." he chuckled "It's definitely one of the nicest perks of the job: never having to share an elevator, or wait in line for the cafeteria, for that matter. Did you see secretary Umbrige? She's a lot less sure of herself when there's an unspeakable in the room."

He looked over to Harry, who got the feeling he was being judged by the man's unseen eyes.

"So, the boss wanted to see you? Don't worry, he's not as dangerous as he looks."

Without saying anything else, Charlie led them through the bowels of the ministry, through deserted corridors and into a door labelled 'Department of international relations, 1872 congress organisation sub-division' in faded paint. Charlie navigated the dusty office and walked up to an out-dated filing cabinet. He pulled out the bottom drawer, and meticulously moved the folders around. The then closed the drawer, opened it again and pointed to it.

"There you go. This is as far as I have been instructed to take you. I will see you later to escort you out."

Harry and Sirius approached the cabinet, and Harry felt his eyes fall out of their sockets. The bottom of the drawer had changed into a narrow staircase which disappeared in the darkness. Sirius went first, and after Harry had followed his lead, the heard the resonating metal clang of the drawer closing. After a few minutes of following stairs and corridors, they arrived at a wooden desk, behind which a hooded figure waited. Despite the camouflage the robes offered, it was clear from her figure she was female.

"Sirius Orion Black and Harry James Potter? Please wait, I will inform my boss you have arrived." She touched the mirror on her desk. "Sir? Mr Potter and Mr Black, like you asked sir. Very well sir, I will sent them though." The secretary turned a brass key on her desk to an unlabeled mark, and on the wall behind her, the drawing of a door appeared. When she tapped the key with her wand, the door suddenly materialised and turned three-dimensional. "Through there please, gentlemen. It's the office at the end of the hall. Have a nice day."

Once again, Sirius led the way. "Well, that was strange" Harry remarked.

"Nah, It was still pretty normal." Sirius answered. "There's a few rooms here though, in which it seems every law known to mankind has not just gone off the deep end, but jumped down screaming. Whilst on fire. Wearing a pink tutu."

This got Harry to laugh, and for a few moments, he forgot his nervousness, while the two continued on their way through the corridor.

When they passed through the door which led to the office of the most powerful man in Britain, Harry silently had to agree with Sirius last statement. The office was not so much an office as it was a stretch of desert, modelled to look like the wind-crafted sandstone 'sculptures' of the American south. Amongst these surreal pieces of rock, with their headache-inducing lines, sat a heavy steel desk, along with a few cabinets and bookcases, each neatly organised. In the 'wall' opposite the door, it appeared a hole had been dug in the bedrock to install an aquarium, filled with tropical fish.

Behind the desk, in an expensive chrome-and-leather directors chair, sat a man in his late forties, who could only be described as 'average'. He had no defining features, just average height an built, mousy brown hair with a tinge of grey, and completely normal brown eyes. Harry was quite sure that, if he was asked to leave the room and describe him, he would not be able to accurately do so. Which, undoubtedly, was exactly the point.

"Mr Potter, Mr Black. I am Romeo, director of the unspeakable. Please have a seat, we have much to discuss." The man said, and offered the two surprised visitors a place on the designer sofa, which overlooked the sands. Romeo tapped the armrest of his chair, and it hovered to place him opposite the sofa. A boulder rolled towards them with a tray of tea and crumpets balancing on top, which placed itself in between them.

"Mr Potter, let's begin. What do you know about The Prophecy?"

Harry's curiosity overcame his shyness. This must have been what Dumbledore had been on about!

"Nothing, sir. Professor Dumbledore has mentioned it once, but told me I wasn't ready to hear it. He hasn't divulged its contents to me, sir."

Romeo didn't look happy, but not really surprised either. "Yes, Dumbledore has always had a pendant for keeping information close to his chest. While it makes him an excellent spymaster or wise old mentor-archetype, it's deadly in a war." He smiled. "Now, Dumbledore probably thinks he's the only one that knows the contents of this prophesy. He believes no-one not mentioned in it can take a prophesy from the shelves in the hall of records, here in this department."

"But that's stupid!" Harry interrupted. "That would imply the ones organising the files would not have access to them. So how would they sort them then!"

Romeo's face spit in a wide grin. "Exactly! My, they told me you were bright!" Harry blushed a bit, while Sirius beamed with pride: his godson had just been completed by probably the most highly credited wizard in the country. Romeo stretched out his hand, and a file flew from one of the cabinets.

"We unspeakables also have access to the prophesy's we store, and the one about you reads: _He who has the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches. The child of those who have trice defied him, born as the seventh moth dies. The dark lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power he knows not. One of them must die at the hands of the other, because neither can live while the other survives._ Also sprach Trawnley."

He looked over to his two guests, who appeared to be in shock. It wasn't every day someone told you it was your sole responsibility to deal with a madman.

"I know it's much to take in right now, but if you approach the so-called prophecy with a more critical view, it could basically mean anything: for one, 'The dark Lord' could mean anybody, from Voldemort to any future darth vader." His words calmed Harry down a little. To see someone be so laconic about it helped get over the shock.

"The only problem is, Riddle believes the one mentioned in the prophesy is you, which in essence makes it a self-fulfilling one. I say, however, that we must try not to take it as a given. It's more of a guideline for things to come, not a exact script. That said, my department will support you with all means at our disposal."

Romeo looked over to Sirius, and an understanding seemed to pass between the two men. Romeo asked: "Mr Potter, Mr Black and I will now brief you on something so secret you can't talk to anyone about it. Do you understand that?"

Harry nodded, his curiosity getting the better of him. Besides, after hearing he was destined to kill Voldemort, a little more information would be nice.

"All right, Harry" Sirius began. "You might have heard us talking about the 'Firestorm project'..."

Half an hour later, the two men fell silent, leaving the teen to absorb what they had told him. Harry, on his part, was both thoroughly impressed and disappointed. He was impressed his godfather had been part of this, and that there were a few individuals that had acted so rapidly when things ware first going wrong. He was disappointed though, that the number of 'good' individuals could be counted on one hand. If things were as grim as the picture Sirius and Romeo painted, Voldemort didn't have to fight the ministry, he could just buy it!

"I know it's much to take in at once, Mr Potter, but I am afraid I have one more favour to ask." The voice of Romeo penetrated his thoughts, bringing him back to the now. "Riddle has cheated death once before already, and we unspeakables believe that his downfall might hold the key. Would you mind having one of our specialist in memory-viewing enter your mind and look at what happened that night? The procedure is painless, and I promise you we will not look anywhere else than that night, and will obliviate any non-vital information from our minds after we're done. It might be the only way to make sure he never returns again."

Harry thought about it. On one hand, he would be letting a complete stranger in his head. On the other, he would help getting rid of voldemort, and maybe...

"Sir, would it be possible to make a recording of what you see? I would like a recording of my parents, if it's possible."

Romeo smiled at him. "Of course we can do that! I understand where you are coming from." He rose, and pointed towards the desert. "shall we go then?"

Without waiting for Harry and Sirius, Romeo set of towards the distant sky, and to their surprise, opened a stretch of sky roughly twenty yards away from them.

"I got this idea watching _The Truman Show_," he said. "Nice effect, isn't it?" If he was disappointed at the lack of reaction from his audience, Romeo didn't show it. He pressed on and led the two visitors through long and winding corridors, until they reached an unmarked door.

The room they entered just screamed 'hygienic' to Harry, with its blindingly white walls and vague scent of antiseptics. The centre of the room was filled with something that looked like an MRI-scanner, albeit covered in runes and made from a dark stone. A woman in surgical gear was tapping the runes with her wand, causing them to glow in a undefinable pattern. She turned around to look at her visitors, and nodded at them.

"Director. Mr…?"

"Potter and Black, doc." Romeo provided. He turned to Harry and Sirius. "Gentlemen, meet dr. Juliet Greene. She's our resident expert on memory, and is, of course, bound by the Hippocratic oath."

After the introduction was out of the way, Harry was asked to lay down on the table connected to the scanner. On top of the scanner block, a retort was placed in the indentation meant for it, and below the downward-pointing tip, dr. Greene put a pensive to collect Harry's memories.

The device began to flash in unearthly colours, and 'curtains' of this light intersected through Harry's head, now fully placed in the scanner. While his memories began to drip from the tip of the retort, and into the pensive below, Harry began to feel slightly _odd_. The process didn't hurt, but he experienced flashes and glimpses if past memories, but they seemed to be played on double speed. After three passes through the machine, dr. Greene shut it down, released Harry from the binds that had stopped him from moving around too much and "Messing up the focus" and gathered them round the pensive. Before she led them on a trip down Harry's memory lane, she warned Harry.

"Mr Potter, we will be revisiting the moment of your parent's death. You may not want to watch this, and, if you wish, you can wait here until we're finished."

Harry nodded. While he would have liked to see his parents one more time, he didn't want to relive that particular night, especially after his own close brush with death last June. He watched his godfather, Romeo and dr. Greene dissolve into the pensive. Only five minutes later, they reappeared. Sirius was crying, and Romeo looked pensive.

"Dr. Greene, will you please scan Mr. Potter here for a Alpha-five class dark artefact? I expect it to be centred around his scar." While dr. Greene began to reconfigure the scanner, Romeo turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I'm afraid we may know how Riddle survived, and we're afraid that scar of yours may have something to do with it. We'll have to study it a bit closer, and it may be necessary to remove it completely." He looked at Harry slyly "But then again, you never liked that scar very much in the first place, did you?"

Harry shook his head, and asked: "What did you find?" Romeo's explanation was short.

"We found Riddle used some very dark magic to anchor his soul to this plane of existence. From the incantation he used to turn his wand into one, he made several more. Finding them will be rather difficult, but we believe a small fragment of his soul bound itself to the most active magical 'hotspot' the moment the rebounded curse killed him." His eyes drifted to Harry's forehead. "Your scar, or, more specifically, the point where, only a fraction of a second before, two of the most powerful magics known to man interacted."

Harry looked revolted. "So he's _Inside _me? Inside my head?" Harry was just about to panic, when Romeo put his mind at ease.

"No, Mr. Potter, a minor piece of him is in your scar. An even more minor piece may have oozed through to your mind, but I find that rather unlikely, seeing that the fragment could only have begun to activate after Riddles resurrection. However, if it's not removed, the link between the two of you could grow."

"then get it _out. Of. My. Scar_. "Harry's tone brooked no argument. "Take the whole dammed thing off if you need to, _I want him gone from my forehead_."

At that moment, dr. Greene interrupted. "The device is ready." She handed Harry a cup of light blue potion. "Mr Potter, please lie down and drink this, it will put you to sleep and when you wake up, everything will be alright." Harry complied, and two seconds later, he fell into blissful oblivion.

Later that day, after a scarless Harry had been escorted out of the building, a vial of forgotten childhood memories deep in his pocket, Romeo looked at the captured black cloud in the glass orb he was holding. He knew that this fragment would react to the presence of its brethren. He also knew that it would be doable to build a relative scanning devise to locate the other horcruxes. But he also knew that those sites would be points Riddle would defend until the last man, and if one were to be threatened, all would be guarded extensively. Romeo sighed, and finished his whiskey. At least it would drive Riddle in the open.

* * *

The evening of the second of August was a perfect one. Warm, clear skies with no chance of rain and with a bright, clear moon to add to the atmosphere. For most people, the night would be spent enjoying a light dinner in the garden and consequently staying up late in the muggy evening air. Maybe play a board game with the kids or share a drink with friends.

However, the six men and women from the 1453 flight, 707th squadron, were not 'most people'. For one, they were wizards and witches, which was special enough in and of itself. They were also spending this evening in a small van, at 12.000 feet over Bristol, which was an odd way to spend your evening, even for someone of magical birth. These four men and two women were on 'sensor stations' tonight, and it was their job to keep an eye on the British magical airspace. Tonight was a first for this craft, as the original Awareness had received an extensive update over the course of the last summer. It had been outfitted with improvements both big and small: from simple strings from the ceiling so that operators no longer had to fumble when they dropped their wands, to an all-new signatures recognition system, which could relatively reliably identify the type of craft on screen.

It was that evening at 18:45, when the rest of the crew was just finishing dinner, that corporal Harold Daniels noticed two contacts at the edge of the scanner's range. What was peculiar about these contacts was that they were not broom signatures, and they were headed for British territorial airspace from out on the north sea, around twenty miles from Norfolk. He requested a course change to the pilot, and the rest of the crew quickly noticed the lurch that accompanied the change in heading. No longer in its patrol route along the axis Plymouth - Leeds, the craft was now heading north-east, further inland, and everyone had gone on high alert. With each passing mile, the contacts became clearer and clearer, until the system locked on and found a match for the distinctive energy signature given off by these incoming threats, which were bound for greater London. Less than two minutes after the system had tagged them, a flight of four hurricanes, led by Squadron leader Tonks, scrambled from their home base on the isle of Wright.

For the umpteenth time in the one-hour flight, Tonks wondered to herself if she was, maybe, a cosmic plaything, chosen to do all the combat testing the universe needed done. Tonight, her flight would not only be the first ever to use SGAAP's, but also the new, exactly one-week old ADAAP's, their Anti-dementor cousins. The moment the call had come in there were dementors headed for a mayor population centre, all alarm bells had rung. An second awareness was put in the air to patrol around the northern coast, in case this would turn out to be a mayor attack. The ground forces were put on rapid response, which meant they would be following along toward a staging area in the Yorkshire dales, a move designed to decrease response time. And finally, her squadron was put on stand-by too, all craft to assemble over peak district national park. A voice in her headphones brought her out of her thoughts.

"Spartan leader, Gatekeeper. Bandits at angels four, bearing 2-4-0, 13 out."

Tonks checked her tactical display, and, just like the awareness had predicted, the dementors were there. They appeared to have failed to notice the reaction to their presence. That was about to change.

"Gatekeeper, Spartan leader. Judy, engaging."

She switched the channel to her flight, subconsciously praying not to screw this one up. She had directed the Hufflepuff chasers to victory for two years in a row, but this was a whole different league. When she spoke, however, her voice betrayed none of the nervousness she felt.

"Okay Spartan flight, this is it. Blue section, on my mark, peel to 1-0-5, maintain altitude. Red two, stick to me and maintain heading, descend to angels five."

From the three craft around her, she received all positive responses. Everything was go. By now, they were approaching the dementors from their target's right side, about 3.000 feet higher.

"Ok, Spartans, mark!"

When she gave the call, her people acted exactly like they had practiced. The two Hurricanes of the blue section peeled slowly right and kept their altitude and speed. Tonks and her wingman -making up the red section- continued ahead, diving slowly but steadily. Almost four minutes after they had broken formation, the two craft were at top speed, and roughly ten miles from their targets. Time to turn and get a lock.

"Red two, break right, break right!"

The Red section executed it's maneuverer perfectly, and one steep turn later, they were behind the dementors. High above them, Blue section was in position too, ready to take the vile beasts down. Tonks, however, doubted the effectiveness of both the ADAAP's payload and guidance. She decided there was no kill like overkill, as they had no need to conserve ammunition with no further threats around. Besides, these missiles were so new, they hadn't even been tested yet against real dementors. Better to be safe than to be sorry.

"Spartans, lock on targets, saturated fire when you're ready."

A long beep in her ears alerted her the projectiles had locked their targets in its systems.

"Fox-two, fox-two, fox-two, fox-…" It sounded like a ritual chant to her, spoken by both herself and her fellow pilots. In less than thirty seconds, she had exhausted her missile supply and was climbing sharply, almost straight up, to avoid the area of impact. which was glowing like a silver nebula in the night sky.

The moment Squadron leader Tonks spoke the syllables that made up the brevity code they adopted from the muggle NATO, a small pulse of magic was sent out to the rear of the broom, where it connected with the sticking charm at the intersection of the broom handle with the dragonhide, causing a sticking charm to fail and a glowing silver-blue orb to fall away from the broom. By the time Tonks had spoken the last syllable of the 'two', the orb was already ten feet below, and by the time the second was released, the first had just activated it's rear banishing charm, coupled to a levitation charm. Its 'brain' was extremely simple, and consisted of just a few lines of runes. Five seconds since Tonks had fired, and the orb was now streaking through the skies in a brilliant trail of blue, it's speed just above the speed of sound, and it was still heading towards the dementors, who, only now, spotted its arrival. Startled by this new thing coming towards them, the dementors tried to do what everyone would do when something unknown flying at themselves at high speed: dodge.

They were too slow. Far too slow. Even if they had somehow possessed superhuman speed and reflexes (which they didn't), the projectiles would have been too fast, accelerating to twice the speed of sound in the last 1.6 seconds before impact. The first ADAAP hit the left dementor where it's abdomen was supposed to be, punching through its cloak and into the darkness that lies below. A millisecond later, it detonated upwards, releasing the patronus it contained right inside the creatures chest, the same time a second projectile, the first one fired by blue two, hit the rightmost dementor in the chest. If both dementors had not been distracted at this time, they would have heard the sonic boom of the first projectile breaking the sound barrier. By the time the second missile detonated too, projectiles numbers three and four had arrived, courtesy of respectively red two and blue leader. Each ripped the little that remained to shreds, but more ADAAP's kept coming. By the time the last arrived on the scene, it couldn't find anything large enough left to lock on to, and destroyed itself.

The resulting light show would continue to baffle muggle astronomers for almost twenty years, and would keep on being cited by UFO-conspiracy theorists for even longer. None of the pilots knew this, though. They were heading home to de-brief, after gatekeeper had signalled the all clear. There were kills to be distributed!

**AN: his mega-update has been in the works for quite some time now, especially the DOM-scenes were difficult to write. That said, the next update will be a long time coming too, with exams coming up in February and end-of-term deadlines looming closer.**


	9. Chapter 8

It was Friday, September 5th, and Harry Potter had come to a not-so-startling revelation. He absolutely hated Delores Umbrige. That obnoxious, annoying, vile toad! She had had it out for him from the moment she entered the classroom, but fortunately, he had managed to keep his temper in check. It wouldn't do to paint an even bigger target on his back, especially if he were to oppose her directly.

Which was something he totally intended to do.

Fortunately for Him, Hermione had had the same idea. Together, they had quickly come to the realisation that Umbrige was, by orders of Fudge, deliberately stopping them from learning any DADA, out of fear of Dumbledore forming an army. And also, because they didn't want to believe Voldemort had actually returned.

"That's quite a stupid notion really" Hermione ranted. "I mean, for one, If he had to pick wizards for his secret army, he would choose the most experienced people available, not 5th-year students. Besides, the notion of Dumbledore _forming_ a secret army is absurd! I mean, with the amount of scheming that man has done, he probably _already has one_."

"Yea, the 'order of the phoenix', or something equally silly-named." Harry added. "Fat load of good that did in the last war. I mean, they were losing badly before this toddler came along and saved the day…"

"At least we now have an 'official' and competent magical army available" was Hermione's response. "even if the minister doesn't know it yet."

Of course, Harry had told Hermione about the Firestorm project, after getting permission from Sirius. He knew she was his godsons most trusted advisor and closest friend, and he told her everything. From the visit to the unspeakables to the new gadgets and weapons he had seen in the Black armouries's labs, she knew it all. And of course, had begun to analyse it all immediately.

"Which reminds me" Harry said to her. "I've been doing some math, and I'm not happy." At her surprised look he explained: "I happen to know that the flight from the Isle of Man to Hogwarts in an Atlas troop carrier takes roughly half an hour. That would give any attacker more than enough time to get in here, kill 80 to 90 per cent of the students and staff and disappear before reinforcements arrive. We need a way to buy time, even if the wards delay them for 15 minutes, they can still do substantial damage because there are no other defences. We need to teach some people to fight, or we'll all die."

Hermione agreed. "No offence to them, but the professors here are just that: Teachers. And they only need two Death Eaters to hold each one of them off, while the rest are free to run around killing all of us. You're right Harry, we need to teach some of our fellow students to fight." Her face lit up. "You know, if we can teach some defence on the side, it might very well help people sit their OWL's!" Harry chuckled quietly at that; Thrust Hermione to look at the educational angle.

* * *

Back in Belgium, Black boasted a broad smile when he entered the boardroom. The holidays were over, and it was time to formulate a new 'grand strategy'. All the heads had met their teams this morning, to discuss brainwaves, theories and insights.

"Good afternoon everyone, I hope you all had productive and enjoyable holidays?"

There were murmurs of approval, and Felix shot him a look that said 'I told you so'. Indeed, when Felix had first talked to Sirius about the workers holiday arrangements, the later had been sceptical. To send researchers on paid-for holidays with their families, in exchange for attending a few days of seminars, congresses and lectures would be a massive financial burden, and that was not even counting the benefits they would demand for having their holidays interrupted. But Felix persisted, and illustrated his sentiment with a muggle company called 'Philips', that had always taken good care of their employees, and was amongst the top manufacturers of muggle electronics in the world. Besides, it would be nice to give something back to the people that had worked so hard to make their first year in business a success.

"Let's start with you. Thomas, what have you got?"

The large man grinned. He knew his department was mostly oriented around manufacturing their best-selling vests, and countering the more and more powerful spells from more and more powerful wands. That, however, didn't mean his people rested on their laurels, and they had become known as the people to go to for protection and hand-to-hand combat.

"We've had a few ideas. The most promising is this." He showed something that appeared to be a standard battlewand, until he pressed a glyph on the bottom. Accompanied by the sound of crackling energy, a foot-long blade of light came out. It hummed with power for a moment, before it collapsed into itself.

"These blades would give troops the ability to engage enemies in close quarters, without having to switch to a sword. The blade is strong enough to pierce basic armour, but won't go through dragonhide, or our vests. The biggest problem right now is durability, as you can see, the wand itself sustains the blade for only a few seconds. Nonetheless, it seems to have potential, seeing as I got it to work on this very crude mock-up."

Thomas continued. "Furthermore, we have plans for a full suit of armour, with visor that displays tactical information to the wearer. We'll need to see if we can make it cost-efficient, but even if it works, it would possibly be prohibitively expensive."

The assembled heads agreed, and one even jokingly suggested one of his people had been watching too much _Star Wars_.

"Ok, What about you, Livia?" Sirius asked. "Any new insights?"

"Only one, Mr Black, but I believe this could be revolutionary." This piqued everybody's interest. "One of my researchers has devised a way to store magic in a crystal, quite close to the theory behind the SGAAP and ADAAP systems. Now, he thought up a system to regulate the flow of magic and send it through a cluster of runes symbolising the _redactor_-curse. Instead of one massive blast, this system could give us a controllable series of small blasts shortly after each other. We could build a portable magical 'machine gun', instead of one fixed to a broom."

Everyone was quite impressed. This could be a major breakthrough in infantry combat. It definitely a sign of the changing times. No longer were armies built out of basically individual duellists, who would seek out opponents on the battlefield in single combat, often preferring to capture for a prize (or to preserve bloodlines) instead of killing their defeated foes. The first change had, ironically, come from Voldemort himself, who had not shown qualms about killing non-cooperative purebloods.

Michelle Bloch was next. "Like I reported before the summer, my department had finished two prototypes of the F/A-2 'lightning', and is ready to commence flight testing. The weapons are being installed as we speak, but initial tests suggest we need to build more powerful spell-orbs to make it a success in its intended role as a ground-attack fighter/bomber. However, times may come we need something even more capable of raining down death upon ground forces, preferably from as high as possible. My department therefore suggests another modification to the frame of the versatile Atlas. We intend to transform it into a bomber, the B-1 'Marauder'. Equipped with light defensive armament, it would be a valuable addition to our portfolio."

The people in attendance nodded. Many counties were still slightly at odds with each other, despite the fall of the wall less than a decade ago. The declining might of Russia, the apparent (but costly) stability of the United States, the growing power of China… All of them would, if it ever came to blows, want a way to reach out and hit the other. The war-brooms could do that, of course, but a true bomber would create possibilities never seen before in the magical world.

"Very good, that's a great idea Michelle" Remus Lupin said. "I've been traveling around, trying to sell some products. I am pleased to confirm orders for a grand total of 200 Hurricanes, for countries all around the world. Also, there are orders for 500 Atlases, seeing as they are becoming the workhorse for moving a great deal of equipment and people efficiently." He grinned Feraly. "Of course, most governments are more interested in buying if they hear their potential enemies have them too."

Sirius once again took charge. "Very good work, all of you. Now, for the financial statements…"

* * *

Harry stepped on to the elevated platform the room of requirement had granted him. The students below, a little over thirty in all, were looking at him with mixed looks of awe, curiosity and even a little fear. After all, he had a certain reputation, thanks to the Daily Prophet continuing its campaign of slander. He looked over to Hermione and Neville, who had taken front row seats.

"Welcome, all of you, and thank you for coming in such large numbers." He started his speech. "First off: you are here because you have expressed a desire to learn how to fight and defend both yourselves, this castle, and its inhabitants. All of you are here because you refused to stick your head into the sand and refuse to prepare for Voldemorts inevitable attack on the castle. This is NOT fun and games. This is deadly serious. This is war!"

"It is my goal to turn all thirty of you into a well-disciplined, well-organised and well-trained unit. We will not have any mercy on those who will try to attack this castle, or harm its inhabitants in any way, shape or form. Those of you who, right now, believe this is more than you have bargained for, you are free to leave, no hard feelings." Not a single person moved. It was Susan Bones who broke the silence that had fallen.

"Harry, She said, My aunt, the only living family member I have left, Will be on the front lines of this coming war. If there is anything I can do to support her, I will without hesitation." There were murmurs of approval amongst the massed students.

"Very well, In that case, I think I should start by explaining my idea. Right now, the muggle armed forces are way better at fighting wars than your typical wizard. We will be taking the ideas that worked for them, and adapt them to our situation. Right now, the building block of the muggle army is the squad: roughly six to eight men armed with a variety of weaponry." He looked over the group, and saw some muggleborns nod, and even a few exited faces; Probably those that would love to fire a LMG or RPG.

"I'm sorry, but that is just not going to work for us. There is no way I could provide you with the tactical training, the necessary firepower, or even the required equipment for something like that. We don't have the officers, we don't have the weapons. Maybe next year, but only if we get real lucky. What we will do instead is borrow from the men and woman that built the British empire." He paused a moment for dramatic effect. "We will become a so-called regiment of the line. Any amongst you who have seen _Zulu_ will know what I mean."

He continued to explain, seeing some confused looks in his audience. "While it is true that our wands are more versatile than a muggle gun, it lacks three key attributes: range, accuracy, and –arguably- power. While our wands can cast a spell that kills instantly, it takes quite a lot out of us, and even if it weren't, they're called unforgivables for a reason; Highly addictive."

"Early muggle weapons also lacked these properties. they solved this by lining up their riflemen like this." He pointed to a diagram on the wall behind him, which showed the 'line' he had thought up. "If we organise ourselves like this, we will be able to pour thirty _reductors_ in an area fifteen yards wide every ten seconds." The purebloods looked in awe: no wizard could defend against that many curses at once and still maintain a attack.

"The line is a simple formation, but relies on discipline and an absolute thrust in your colleagues to have your back. When used on an open field, casualties will be horrendous, but we're not going to use it in an open field. Our goal will be to buy time for the professionals to mop up any attackers. Gather round please." The crowd gathered round a large scale model of Hogwarts castle, courtesy of the room.

"Here is what we will do when the castle is attacked." Harry began to explain to the crowd. "First, the Sappers, a group of house elves who are in on this and lead by Sergeant Dobby, ..."

Two weeks after the meeting in the room and the formation of the Hogwarts Guard, Harry was approached by two of the least likely people in the castle. He had received a message from two unnamed slytherins that had, somehow, gotten word of his little group, and wanted in. They had set up a meeting in the owlry at midnight, and Harry had mobilised some of his 'most loyal supporters' to stand guard in case they tried something funny. He had Luna and Ginny guarding the tower entrance, Neville with him in the room under the cloak, and the twins too keep a close eye on the map in case it was a set-up. Everybody was, understandably, quite anxious about the whole thing.

"Two slytherins coming up on the map, Harry." Fred reported through the mirror. "Looks like they're alone. Update on the toad, she's in her quarters; the caretaker is on the second floor and the cat is in the west wing, third floor. We are all clear."

"Good, lookout, can you see them yet?" He asked the two girls that had hidden themselves in an alcove near the staircase that lead up to the sanctuary of the owls.

"Yes, we can see them coming through the west-bound corridor. The disillusioned themselves, but one of them just passed out laser detectors."

The two disillusioned shapes made their way up the stairs of the owlry, where Harry and Hermione were waiting for them. The two shimmered into existence and Harry got right down to business.

"Okay, what do you two want? "Harry asked Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis.

"Look, Potter, we know you're not stupid enough to believe this 'all Slytherins are evil-crap'. The lot of us are fairly decent human beings, and we want out. We know you're up to something, but whatever it is, it's going to put you right into the path of both Snape and Umbridge. We want to offer you our services as gatherers of intelligence."

"I'm also not naive enough to believe you're doing this purely for me. What's the price?"

"You're more Slytherin than I thought, Potter." Greengrass said. "OK, you want the truth, you'll get it. We're going to support you covertly, which means that if you win, we can safely come out in the camp of the winners. If you lose, we can safely go to ground and pretend to be the evil Slytherins. It's a win-win gamble for us."

"But to be honest" Tracy added, "We would prefer to you to come out on top. Give me an idealistic teenager over a _Crucio-_happy dark lord any day."

Harry thought it over for a minute, then smiled. "Welcome to the team, ladies. I'm looking forward to a successful cooperation. Now, for the practical matters…"

* * *

It wasn't long before Umbrige began claiming more and more power, but when she created her own personal enforcers, in the Inquisitorial Squad, Harry felt she had crossed a line. Turning students in your own police force _was_ something he would not stand for. Harry and Hermione decided, together with Daphne and Ginny, the best way to go would be to undermine their authority, both openly and covertly. That meant both ridiculing those that had chosen to join the inquisition, and silently protesting every action by Delores Umbrige.

To get the Inquisitorial squad, they would need to strike hard, fast, then disappear in the mass of students. The first planned task involved several complicated transfiguration- and notice-me-not-charms, as well as some potions. It was deemed the only way to do this would be by ambushing and stunning several inquisitors, before applying the charms and potions, before disappearing into the mass of students going to lunch. The group had found the perfect spot for an ambush: A piece of corridor on the third floor with a tapestry hiding a staircase to the fifth floor transfiguration corridor, and a bend at the end. Five members of the Guard would take position behind the bend, and provide the 'anvil'. The 'hammer' would consist of another team, that would be hiding behind the tapestry. Fred and George would lure as many of them up there (they hadn't disclosed how they were going to do it, and Harry hadn't asked) and then the trap would be sprung.

Harry coordinated it all from the Guards HQ in the Room of requirement. In its current lay-out, it held a firing range, medical station, barracks, two security stations at the entrance and a command centre. This last room held a large version of the marauders map on one wall, a table for laying out maps, complete with markers to show unit positions, and a communications station for both mirrors and wizarding wireless. Today, they would be using mirrors.

"Fireteams, this is command. Please confirm you are in position and ready to go." Harry was a bit nervous. This was to be their first action, and it needed to succeed, else morale would drop and the HG would melt like snow in a dragon's pen.

"Red OK." Came the voice of Neville Longbottom. He had, surprisingly, volunteered to lead the tapestry team. Because Harry trusted him, and because it would be good for his friend's self-confidence, Harry had allowed it.

"Blue OK." This team was led by Susan Bones, because she had helped tremendously in the planning of this action. It certainly paid to have the director of DMLE as your aunt. And some of her tactical skills must have rubbed off.

They had, of course, planned and simulated the entire thing in the room. But of course, no amount of practice could prepare you for the real world. Harry knew that in an engagement, the plan can be thrown out after five minutes of contact. His solution was to be done in four.

"Bait ready. We're all set." The twins were ready now, waiting for Harry to give the signal.

"All right, we are go. Red and Blue, fix markers." The markers, armbands in burgundy red with a bar of blue lengthwise, were a stroke of genius. They would identify them and they would serve as an IFF in hectic combat through tight corridors. But they could also be removed in a few seconds, with no-one being all the wiser. But most importantly, they provided their moral lifeline, in preventing Umbrige taking out her frustrations on the regular students, at least in a perfect world. She would do so nonetheless, but the armbands were their shields against guilt.

"Harry, we have six, seven inquisitors following the bait." Luna reported from her position at the Marauders map. He nodded, than quickly relayed the information to the Red and Blue teams.

As the twins led the pursuing Inquisitors closer and closer to the site of the ambush the tension in the command centre rose to unbelievable levels.

"Two more corners to go, there's ten on their tail now" Luna said, and again, relayed it to the teams.

"Attention Red and Blue, the bait is two corners out." Neville silently acknowledged this message, and held up a closed fist to his teammates, telling them they would wait until he gave the signal to go. He could actually hear the footsteps of the twins and their pursuers now, and a few tense seconds later, the 'bait' ran by their hiding place. Instinctively, all members of his team pressed themselves slightly closer to the wall. One second of silence. Two seconds. The thundering footsteps of the herd of 'prey' came rushing past, unaware the hunters had become the hunted. One more second as the last steps passed them.

"NOW!" came the voice over the mirror, and all hell broke loose. The five broke out of their hiding place, firing stunners wildly into the group. Two seconds later, the noise stopped as abruptly as it had started, when the last inquisitor hit the ground. None of them had even managed to get a spell off. But it wasn't over yet. A quick series of spells were shot at each of the unconscious figures, and each got two drops of potion in their mouths. Two more spells onto each of their inquisitor's badges, and the operation was finished. All in all, it had taken less than two minutes.

"OK, good work everyone. Remove markers, disperse and go to lunch. Command out."

The rest of the day, the students of Hogwarts were treated to ten members of the Inquisitorial Squad randomly disappearing in a great cloud of smoke, to re-emerge in red robes, with a silly brimmed hat or a WWII-era pilot helmet, yell "Nobody expects the Spanish inquisition" and preform parts of the sketch, before returning to normal in another puff of smoke. Safe to say, it took a few weeks before anyone took them seriously again.

In the weeks that followed, the 'Hogwarts Civil war' intensified. When the inquisitors began patrolling the corridors looking for Students breaking Umbrige's laws, they found themselves frequently ambushed. It became nearly impossible for Umbridge to teach, because she could hardly stay inside the classroom for five minutes before she was called away to an ambush site. When the patrols got bigger and bigger, their unseen foes began using traps. The Weasly twins were masters at building remote-detonated pranks and Improvised Dungbomb Devices (IDD's for short), and they wreaked havoc amongst the Inquisition. Most of the students were on the side of the Guard, because they detested Umbridges repressive regime. These students were moved towards a campaign of public disobedience, openly defying the educational decrees.

Harry found himself spending more and more time in the command centre, reading reports from their Intelligence officers, Receiving messages form communications, planning operations and overseeing drills. Right now, he was sitting in his office with Hermione, discussing some intelligence from Greengrass, when Ginny entered.

"Harry, this just came in from communications. It's from Sirius." She left him a sheet of paper, typed out on an mechanical typewriter. She turned around an left.

"Thanks Ginny!" Harry called after her. He quickly scanned the document, then turned to Hermione.

"He wants us to look for something in the castle. He says it's important we find it as soon as possible. He'll send further information on the location when it becomes available."

She nodded. "Well, we'd best get looking then!"

**AN: Well, so far so good. It's odd to read this now, nearly a year after the idea to write this first struck me. I've really struggled with making Fifth year as interesting as fourth. It will be shorter, two to three chapters, but after that, we can get to the real fighting. Also, this will be the last update until February-March next year, because exams begin in three weeks. Finally, I'd like to wish you all a very happy Christmas and a happy new year. Thank you for reading.**


	10. Chapter 9

The twenty-first of February saw the beginning of a new routine at Isle of Man AFB. That morning, at only three o'clock, Two pilots were woken up and ushered into the briefing room. Outside specially qualified technicians from the Department of Mysteries worked in a closed hangar to perform last-minute checks on the _Argus_, the only Atlas T-1X in existence. It had been singled out for special modifications when it was still on the assembly line by its commander, Flt. Lt. Abraham Cook, and was now ready for its first operational flight. Amongst its many modifications were heavy-duty invisibility charms, because her missions would take her low over the county in broad daylight, and an advanced shielded GPS.

The _Argus_ was as unique as it was vital to the war effort, and therefore her operations were shrouded in secrecy. Every morning, the two pilots would be woken from their sleep in a separate dormitory, eat before anybody else was up, and be taken to the briefing room. There, they would be told that day´s patrol route, which would be handed to them in a sealed briefcase by the personal secretary of the head Unspeakable. At around four thirty in the morning, they would head to their craft, taxi to the end of the runway and take off in complete darkness, her payload unknown to all but the few unspeakables that serviced it.

The craft was unique because it held an Soul Resonance Locator, designed to locate the horcruxes of Tom Riddle, which he had hidden around the country. The centrepiece of the device was the soulshard that had been extracted from the head of Harry Potter. This told the SRL exactly what it was looking for. The measured resonance was logged and every day, after the _Argus _returned to the ground, taken to the DoM to be analyzed. At the same time the soulshard, which was encased in a heavy lead casing, was removed and stored in the most secure bunker on the base.

And indeed, for the first of many, many mornings to come, Cook taxied his craft to the edge of the runway, pushed the throttle, and lifted off.

* * *

The day-to-day situation in Hogwarts was getting worse. Umbridge did not like having her authority challenged, and the much-discussed educational decree #25 gave her an almost unprecedented power.

"The new decree is going way too far." Hermione said during the staff meeting in the Guard's HQ. "It gives that toad the power to 'monitor, question and detain student suspected of undermining the rule of the ministry.' We can't let that stand!"

"All too true," Daphne Greengrass noted. "They've requisitioned some unused rooms in the north tower, and are building themselves quite a nice 'lair'. One of our operatives, agent 'Asp' is busy infiltrating the inquisition itself. He reported that internally, Umbridge has given them carte blanche. I believe her exact words were, I quote: 'I want this school back under my control. You may use whatever measures you feel necessary to restore order.' End quote."

This statement caused some grim and determined looks on the faces of the leaders of the Guard. 'Whatever measures necessary' basically meant the inquisition could do everything they wanted, and there was nothing others could legally do to stop them.

"We'll just have to show them we are not cowed by her threats." Neville stated. "The moment they start 'detaining' students, we should make a point by breaking them out whenever we can. And on top of that, we need to step up on the ambushes." This was meat with sounds of approval around the room.

"All right, when their command centre is operational, we'll strike against it." Harry agreed. "Now, Have we made any progress on project skyshield?"

"We have", Hermione answered from his side. "We've found what we're looking for, and are ready to receive further instructions."

"Good." Harry nodded. "I will send out confirmation to Sirius as soon as possible. Thank you, everybody. It seems break is over, so let's get back to class."

* * *

All was quiet on the dark and moonless night. The great walls and towers of the castle stood looming over the extensive grounds. At this hour all students were supposed to be in bed, and only the caretaker and his cat wandered through the deserted halls. The moon was absent, hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. The grounds were the picture piece of quiet.

Or were they? Low over the treetops of the forbidden forest soared a dark shape. It circled a few times before it disappeared under the dense canopy. Four people came out of the contraption, and quickly camouflaged it with nets and branches. The quartet then quickly and quietly moved to the edge of the woods, constantly sticking to the cover of the trees and the rough ground of the Scottish Highland. Two of them were equipped with battlewands, one carried a LR-model and the final one did not carry a weapon, but was instead loaded down with a heavy backpack. The four black shadows crept away from the lakeside, when suddenly a voice whispered from behind a boulder.

"What would happen if National Rail ran the Hogwarts express?"

The intruders looked at each other, before one of them whispered back: "The train would always be five carriages short and an hour late due to leaves on the line."

There was a short pause, before two students stepped out behind the boulder. They had, on purpose, covered their house insignia's with black cloth. The shortest of the two waved the four older men over.

"Good evening, gentlemen. This is Zabini, My name is Longbottom. We've found what you've asked for, but we'll have to move through the school to get to it." He grinned at the divers. "Fortunately for us, a party of patrolling prefects is with us on this. They'll keep any others of our back."

"All right then, lead the way. Miller and Brown hang back, Miller, you take point." The leader of the inserted team ordered. He was one of the two wearing a battlewand, and he was the only one of the them that hadn't blackened his face. This was due to his complexion, by African descent.

"Roger, Shacklebolt", one of the men addressed as Miller spoke, the one carrying the LR. He then added quietly to the other. "Don't f*ck this up, bro. Like you did that time tried to sneak into Andrea's bedroom." The backpacked one bristled.

"Listen, Daniel, I know you're never going to let me live that one down, but please, keep those jokes until appropriate." But to himself, Felix had to chuckle. That had been one of the worst sneaking actions in the history of sneaking. He had, in a wave of overconfidence, tried to climb up to Andea's bedroom window, back when they had been dating for a few months. He hadn't however taken into account the strength of the tree he had been climbing, and Daniel had, like a brother should, never forgotten the crash Felix had made in the rosebushes. Nor the chase by the dogs her parents kept.

Daniel Miller was almost three years younger that Felix, and at first glance, one wouldn't tag them as brothers. Where Felix was short and skinny, with blue-grey eyes and smooth blonde hair, Daniel was a good feet taller, with well-developed muscles. To complete the dissimilarity, he had brown, curly hair. It looked almost as if someone had played mix-and-match with their parent's features, with an added rule nothing could be used twice. The disparity also extended to their personalities. Felix was calm and academic, Daniel impulsive and a bit of a cassanova-wanabe and thrillseeker. Nevertheless, they loved each other dearly, and either one would walk to hell and back for the other.

By now, the group had made it to a doorway in the base of the astronomy tower. While they waited at the door for the prefects to give the all-clear, Neville explained how they had found the room the men needed.

"After you guys asked Harry, we scoured the building using the plans Mr Miller sent from his research at a similar site at Tintagel. We've used the detectors you sent to estimate the place, and then we went looking. The entrance is underneath the central tower, and we..."

He was cut off by the sound of two swift knocks on the wooden door, followed by a pause, and then another knock. A short nod from Kingsley sent Daniel in, swiftly followed by the last man of the team, a master warder on loan from the unspeakables. He answered to the name Mike, although none of the team members even entertained the thought that it was his real name.

Now, the team moved through the castles deserted corridors, swiftly, silently and with practiced ease. Each man had the map of the castle practically memorised, in case they would end up somewhere unexpected. They were swiftly closing on one of the biggest secrets of Hogwarts: The main wardstone. It's location was only known to the headmaster, and a headmaster only told his successor when he left the office.

Once again, Kingsley cursed the stubbornness of the headmaster, refusing to accept that, after seeing the war-brooms in action, their enemy would try something similar. He cursed him for refusing to see that, after their side had first used an impromptu two-man 'mortar team', the enemy would invest in ranged weapons too. It was one of the disadvantages of entering a war with a technological or organisational advantage: You were inevitably teaching the enemy your tricks. He cursed him for being an ignorant old man, who presumed to know best, refusing to acknowledge the world was changing around him. That inflexibility could cost lives, and he and his team were here to pre-emptively fix that. At least the castle's wards would be able to sustain aerial attacks after they were done.

"Here it is." Zabini said, while his fellow student lifted a tile. "We set out a path to the wardstone, it's a bit of a maze down there."

The team dropped down into the underground corridor, which was left in darkness when the students slid the tile back into position. On command, all six present lit their wands, and set out on the path the HG had marked. In a stroke of genius, Harry had found that UV-markers still worked in Hogwarts, and that a slightly modified _'lumos'_ could produce the required light. In the ongoing 'war' between the HG and the Inquisition, it had proved to be invaluable to be able to write secret messages and warnings on virtually any surface. The beauty of the system was that magic couldn't pick it up, so while Umbrige may try, she would never read them.

While the walk through the darkness took them through the darkness of the subterranean maze, Felix often paused to take pictures of runes, carved into the doorposts. He quickly identified them as Pictish, dating around the eighth century. While no-one could read them, it still provided clues to how old this section of the building was. While from the outside, the castle appeared to have grown around a eleventh century Norman Donjon or central tower, the foundations revealed some kind of structure must have been here before then.

After one last sharp turn, the party stepped into a large round chamber, with in its exact centre a monolith of the highest quality granite. The monolith was covered in layers and layers of runes, each added by a new headmaster. Mike quickly strode to the wardstone, and began looking for the right 'lines' of 'code' to add the new wards to, while Daniel and Kingsley stood guard near the entrance. Zabini watched Mike work with rapt attention, almost as if to memorise exactly what the master warder did. Neville looked on in surprise, and a little disappointment. He hadn't been here before, and he had been a last-minute swap for Hermoine Granger, who had caught a cold and couldn't make it tonight.

"Is this all? That stone is about as large as the one at the Longbottom Manor. Is that _all_ that keeps the fabled wards of Hogwarts running?"

Mike told Neville to "shut up and let the professionals do their job", but Felix was intrigued. He recalled he had seen a set of stairs that seemed to lead to a floor below this one a little further down the hall, and wandered off to investigate. He found the rough stone stair, but they appeared to lead to nothing more than a stone wall. Felix was about to turn away, when he noticed something that gave him the biggest surprise in his career. The stone slab was labelled, not in Pictish, but in Dwarven runes. 'Main wardchamber' it read, followed by the name of the clan that built it.

"Guys! Come look at this, I think I found something!" He yelled towards the others. "Mike, you've got to see this!"

The rest of the group gathered round quickly, and Mikes irritation at being interrupted vanished quickly after Felix explained what he had found. The men then set to sliding the heavy stone door out of the way, and, after a few minutes, they had cracked it open far enough to look into the space that lay before them. It wasn't a room, but a large shaft that greeted them, partially filled in the middle by a column of a shining silver liquid, which floated by itself to the bottom of the Monolith a floor above. The air was so heavy with magic you could almost see it. Out of fear of setting off something, the team extinguished their wands, and dropped some muggle glow-sticks, before they rappelled down, because nobody really trusted the handhelds. Dwarves hadn't been seen in Europe since the witch-hunts of the 16th century, which meant they must have been at least four hundred years old. While there was a substantial chance the magic in the air had kept the metal from corroding, none wanted risk it. It was a 300 ft drop, after all.

When the team arrived at the bottom, they were met with a sight that they hadn't expected even in their wildest dreams. The 'pillar' in the middle was in fact a flow of quickened silver, one of the base alchemical substances similar to mercury. Because of its ability to conduct magic, the labs in Belgium were experimenting heavily with it, but something on this scale was unheard of. The Liquid flowed through a series of gutters in the floor, each lined with glowing runes. But the biggest surprise wasn't the medium through which the magic was transferred from one of the seven cornerstones to the other, it was the stones themselves. Each consisted of a monolithic slap of the purest mithril.

"Will you look at this." Mike whispered reverently. Judging by the layer of dust on the floor nobody had been there for centuries. The Wardmaster quickly looked over the runes, and found the exact point to insert his lines of runes, that would ensure Hogwarts would be protected from assaults from the air. In the mean time Felix was taking meticulous notes on the arrays and runes used in the wards. All in all, it took a few hours to finish up, and dawn was almost upon them when they made their way back to the grounds.

"Thank you, Both of you. Head back to your dormitories before anyone notices you are missing. We'll show ourselves out." Kingsly told the two students, who complied, both exhausted. By the time the sun crested the horizon the sound of a roaring engine disturbed the silence in the forest, and before anyone could notice a black van lifted off and quickly left the wards behind. Nobody had noticed they had been there.

* * *

Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort was getting quite frustrated. Try as he may to send the visions that would lure the Potter brat to the Hall of Prophesy, they never reached their destination. Sure, his soul fragment, his precious anchor, was still there, but the visions were not received. He briefly considered that potter was using occlumency against him, but quickly discarded the notion. Not only would it take more than a holiday to build shields strong enough to stop HIM, but the tell-tale 'wall' around a consciousness could not be found. Instead, there appeared to be no mind at all!

He withdrew from the link, and searched through his fabulous mind to find the solution for his problem. He suddenly recalled one of the most advanced techniques in occlumency: not fortifying your mind, but hiding it. It appeared Potter had found a way to master it, which provided a bit of a setback. How else was he going to get his hands on that prophesy? And without Rookwood to get inside information on the Department of Mysteries, he couldn't use an inside source. It was maddening!

He calmed himself down, and forced himself to approach the problem rationally. Who else had access to that prophecy? Who else was involved?

* * *

On the afternoon of the second of July, all members of the guard were nervous. Today, they would take the fight directly to the enemy, and liberate the 'innocent' prisoners contained in their headquarters. Two days earlier, the Weasly twins had been detained to be "questioned about subversive elements in the school", and the Guard was going to break them out. There had been some discussion about how to do it though. A vocal minority, led by Hermione had pushed for a quiet 'silent in, silent out-approach'.

But where would the fun be in that?

The breakout was going to be loud, outrageous and aimed directly at driving Umbridge spare. To add to the confusion, the Guard would disguise themselves as Harry using polyjuice. That way everybody, even Harry, could claim innocence. After all, anybody could have sneaked into his dorm and picked a few of his hairs from his pillow. At 12:06 pairs of Guards were moving around on carefully planned routes that would have them rendezvous at 12:07. This was necessary to avoid the restrictions on student gathering that Umbridge had enforced with decree #47b a month earlier. For the record, the count on decrees was now up to 89, which prohibited '_The harbouring or possession of pigmy puffs, unless authorised by the High inquisitor or for reasons specified under Educational Decree 34'_.

Over in the guards Command centre, Combat controllers Granger, Lovegood and Weasly were making the final communications checks with their teams. The three of them had opted to stay behind and direct the action from the large maps in the War room. It was an ungrateful task, but a necessary one, as a force without organisation is no more an army than a heap of bricks is a house. The entire Guard would take part in this operation, and would be divided in three teams. The first, team Raven was led by Susan Bones and directed by Luna Lovegood. It's mission was to distract an inquisition patrol at the North side of the Western wing, so that team Griffin, led by Harry Potter and directed by Hermione Granger could raid the inquisition headquarters located on the fifth floor of the high tower. The final team, Badger, would be directed by Ginny Weasly and led by Neville Longbottom, and was tasked with disrupting the Inquisitions logistics by hindering the flow of people along the central staircase.

The nervousness of the Guard was echoed by the rest of the student body, who felt 'something' was about to happen. Deciding that 'something' did not require their direct involvement, most of them bunkered down in their common room and waited for the dust to clear. The Guard was perfectly fine with this, as it meant no non-combatants running along your line of fire. At exactly 12:07, the order "Bottoms Up!" came, the students took their polyjuice, and all hell broke loose.

Susan was not happy. The group she was supposed to ambush was nowhere to be found, but she knew it was vital it was engaged and pinned down before Harry could lead his assault on the tower. But if the enemy would not come to her, she would have to go to the enemy.

"Raven to control. We have met up but are unable to find out enemy. Where are they?"

"Raven this is Control. They are in the western courtyard, next right then two left and you'll find them. Beware for Nargles though, Inquisitors are infested with them."

The dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood answered her, and Susan had to suppress a smile. She had grown to like the younger girl and was beginning to see her as the sister she had never had. She looked at her group, searching for the Potter wearing an Armband with the letter 'F'. Each member wore a different letter to identify them while under disguise.

"Okay team, you heard her. Fox, take your half and move to the South entrance. We'll cover the north. Move out!"

Her second in command and friend Hannah Abbott nodded, and instead of following her to the right she went left, splitting the team in two groups of five. The courtyard in question was a popular one for Hogwarts students: it overlooked the black lake and was close enough to the castle it offered a few minutes of relaxation in between long classes. It was known to the students as the Obelisk Garden, a name it got from the white obelisk that stood in the middle of its lawn. The official name was the 1815 memorial garden, to honour the Hogwarts Alumni that fought and died at the battle of Waterloo. Ironically, it was here the Inquisition force would meet theirs.

Susan's force spread itself around the courtyard's open side, encircling the inquisition on three sides, while the remaining side was made up of a solid stone wall. There was no place for them to hide or to run to.

"NOW!" she yelled, and fired the first stunners towards the surprised enemy. From behind the cover of pillars and doorways the Guards pumped a mass of stunners into the courtyard. It was even easier than anyone had expected, and the group of inquisitors didn't even stand a chance.

"Command, this is Raven. Enemy neutralised. Awaiting further orders."

Draco Malfoy was tense. Just like the other inquisitors in his patrol, he could feel something was about to happen. The fact that it was way to quiet on the central staircase was a dead giveaway. The What and Who were known variables, it would be another ambush from the blasted 'Hogwarts Guard', but the great unknown were the When and Where. Carefully, he led his men along the narrow staircases towards their sanctuary on the fifth floor. The stairs would be the perfect place for an attack, and all of his fellow teammates were looking around, carefully checking every movement from and along the stairs. The world became a whole lot louder when the party reached the third floor, whentwo simultaneous things happened. There was a loud explosion from the fifthe floor, and a voice cried "Hey Malfoy! Catch!"

Neville's hidden group had found themselves a perfect spot on the fourth floor, and had seen Malfoy's group coming from a proverbial mile away. The silence in which they waited was only broken by the soft voice of controller Weasly, the silent whispering of last-minute orders and the movements of Guardsmen preparing their opening salvo of dungbombs.

"... Are approaching, they're on second floor now. Stand By." Ginny kept giving them the latest updates on the moves of the Inquisitors while the tense seconds ticked by slowly.

Neville had one last, and slightly unconventional order for his men "Malfoy is mine."

The rest of the group nodded. Malfoy had been tormenting the Longbottom boy for their entire time at Hogwarts, and it was finally time to settle a score. When the Inquisitors were in position on the third floor staircase, directly opposite the Guards, Ginny gave the order.

"Now!"

The guard sprung up as one and Neville yelled "Hey Malfoy, Catch!" before hitting him square in the face.

Dungbombs thrown by others had similar effects, but the remaining Inquisitors returned fire with stunners and other curses, and soon a fierce firefight had erupted on the stairs. At first the fight was balanced: The inquisitors had the superior numbers, but the Guard had a superior position.

The Guards advantage was neutralised, however, when the staircases decided to move again. Three swings later the Guard and Inquisition were directly opposite each other, and slowly but surely the Guard was forced to go on the defensive. Neville noticed this too, and when he saw his position had become unsustainable, he made a decision.

"Retreat, retreat! We have done our part! Retreat!"

Under cover of a smokescreen the members of the Guard began to fall back, and in pairs, make it back to their barracks in the Room of Requirement. They had done their diversion, and kept the Inquisitors away from the North tower as long as possible. Now, it was up to Harry to finish the job.

Harry's part of the operation had required most of the work to avoid premature detection by Umbridge. Throughout the castle she had places detectors to monitor the number of people travelling through a certain area. If this number was more than the two people allowed to travel in a group at any given time, the detector would sent an alert to High Inquisitor Umbridge, who could then sent her enforcers towards the disturbance. Pretty soon the Guard had learned to use these to lure the inquisition in traps, or to take down a section of the network entirely.

However, taking down the network around the North tower entirely would give away the target of the operation, which would make the diversions pointless. They had found a way, a crazy way, but still a way, around the problem though. Which was how Harry found himself sitting on the highest battlements of the North tower with Katie Bell, wind whipping past his face and ruffling their hair. When the command "Bottoms Up!" came through, Katie popped the stopper from her vial, and gulped down the potion, muttering that it "At least tasted better than some of those Bertie Beans". Less than thirty seconds later the polyjuice had worked it's magic and Harry stood next to an carbon copy of himself. The only difference was that Harry wore a armband with the letter A, while Katie wore one with a B.

"Ready to go, Bell?" He asked, challenge in his voice.

"Ready when you are, shortie!" She answered, and pulled a long rope from her schoolbag while Harry did the same. A few good knots and clicks of hooks and grigri's later the duo began their decent along the outer tower. A Floor lower Harry knocked on a window, which was opened by himself, only this 'Harry' was wearing an Guards armband with the letter D.

"Bit windy out here, isn't boss?" the other boy called to Harry, who had to smile. Thrust Terry Boot to make a joke in a situation like this. He was a nice guy, Harry thought, but sometimes prone to bouts of understatement and irony.

"Can it, Delta. If It's not too much of an inconvenience to you, we've got an inquisition to dislocate!"

The other boy threw a mock salute and two lines came out of the window, followed by two Potters. They continued their decent, and two floors and three windows later the ten Potters hung outside the north tower, only a few feet above the large bay window of the inquisitors HQ.

"Griffin to Control, we are in position and ready to go. Is the room clear?"

"Control to Griffin, the room is clear, you may use breach charges." The voice of Hermione Granger came through to Harry. "Be careful though not to bring down the tower. Knowing you I somehow feel the need to remind you that you're still attached to it."

Harry grinned at that. Thrust Hermione to try and save him from his own stupidity. Not that the spell-orbs he was about to use were strong enough to bring the structure down, but it was the thought that counted.

"Roger that Control, I'll go easy in the explosives."

Only seconds later a new hole opened up in the Northern tower, accompanied by a loud blast, flying glass and pieces of masonry from the windowsill. The rappelling guardsmen quickly swarmed the room and Harry began barking Orders.

"Bravo, Charlie, Delta, release the prisoners! Echo, Fox, Gulf, take the door! The rest of you, start searching the rooms for anything we might use!"

Harry followed the three he had sent to release the two Weaslys and soon the released twins were led before him.

"Harry, old chap, Its absolutely spiffing to see you here! Do you think you can direct us to the exits?" Fred asked him.

"Sure thing chaps, Just follow the detonating chord, you should find it yourselves." Harry answered straight-faced. The twins looked at each other.

"Fred, It seems we have corrupted this young man to have an unhealthy obsession with explosions."

"True my brother." They both turned to Harry, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Good luck blowing the crap out of this tower, Harry. We'll be off creating mayhem!"

They ran out of the room cackling, and Harry began to ponder if the two had been tortured to insanity while they were held here. Deciding that it would be impossible to tell the difference, he walked back to the main room.

"Hotel, did you find anything yet?" He asked the search team.

"We sure did boss. They've got files on every student: Blood status, Political leaning, Estimated political loyalty, Blackmail material. They have a cabinet full of censored mail, reports on agents trying to infiltrate our organisation..."His voice trailed off. "It's like standing in the headquarters of the bloody Gestapo instead of a student organisation!"

Harry nodded grimly at the report.

"Control, did you get all that?" He asked Hermione through the mirror. From the small portion of her face he could see, she had, and she was livid.

"That foul woman! That is beyond unethical, beyond evil!" She ranted. Suddenly, she went silent. When she spoke again her voice held a icy calm rage. "Harry, you have to destroy those files. We can't let them remain in enemy hands!"

"Griffin copies, Control. We'll get working on setting the charges." He turned to his team.

"O-kay people, you heard the lady. Let's rig this place to blow. Bravo, take Charlie and Juliet and wire the Dungbombs. You two are with me for the explosive and inflammable stuff." They nodded, and each set to his task with a barely disguised glee, because honestly, who doesn't love to make things go 'boom'?

It took almost five minutes to set up everything to blow, and by that time their situation changed quite a lot. The inquisition had noticed the attack on the tower, and Umbridge had pulled every available inquisitor out of class. Reinforced by the party that had made it past the ambush on the staircase, they began laying siege to their own base.

"Griffin, this is control." There was a panic in Hermione's voice as she called Harry. "you've got to get out of there! Toad has assembled her forces and is trying to get to you!"

Harry looked over to the sealed door, his teammates, then drew a conclusion.

"Everybody out! Everybody out! I'll wire up the last of the charges, you get out of here!"

Less than a minute later, Harry was the last one in the room, furiously connecting wires and detonating cord, while the constant pounding of spells against the door provided him with a very good incentive to hurry up. When the door finally gave way to the onslaught of spells, umbrage was the first into the room, with Draco Malfoy and his bodyguards hot on her heels. With a menacing grin Umbrige trained her wand on the back of the figure in the window, a grin that turned even more menacing when she saw she had caught Harry Potter red-handed.

"I've got you now Potter! There's no way you're getting away with this!"

He turned to look over his shoulder, and flashed her a cocky grin Harrison Ford would have been proud of.

"Actually, Umbitch, I think there is."

And with the nonchalance of a man walking his dog Harry stepped out of the window while absently flicking the detonator. He cleared the blast with only inches to spare, just making it to cover when the smoke from the fireworks and the smell of the dungbombs passed just over his head. For the second time that afternoon, Hogwarts castle was shaken by an explosion. This one, however, was punctuated with a howl of frustration and rage.

What followed was a moment for Hogwarts Legend. High Inquisitor and Senior Undersecretary Delores Umbridge spent the better part of the next hour, still covered in soot and excrement, with missing eyebrows and singed hair, ranting to the assembly of students. She demanded those responsible reveal themselves, but of course nobody stepped forward. Amongst the student body the rumour that Harry Potter had been involved spread like wildfire, and for the next three generations students would attempt to answer that one crucial question: "Had or hadn't he worn shades whilst backfliping out of the window?"

In the chaos of the breakout, nobody noticed the disappearance of the professor in Deviation, nor the disappearance of the examinator for that same subject.

* * *

The afternoon of the 2nd of July began like normal in the barracks of the 23rd. After lunch, the troops received instruction on the new 1995-patern battlewands and their bayonet feature. Later, there would be a combat drop exercise. However, the day was to go quite differently than planned. At 15:37, Major Churchill received an urgent missive form the DoM, indicating unauthorised personnel, presumed Death Eaters, were trying to force a way past the outer wards. That call changed the course of a nation. Major Churchill immediately ran to the drill square where the men were practicing with their wand-swords.

"Listen up everybody! Hostiles are trying to force their way into the DoM. This might be the break we've been waiting for! Gear up and head for the assembly area!"

No message could have changed the demeanour of the men on the square more thoroughly. Where before there had been a relaxed, sporting atmosphere, now every body radiated determination and tension. Over the din of soldiers running around, collecting equipment, calling comrades, assembling in units, the voice of Lieutenant Shacklebolt was heard clearly.

"Walker, get the pilots to prepare for dust-off! Jenkins, prepare the first wave! Everybody else, Get organized and head to your assembly points!"

At 15: 45, the first wave of craft left the runway, flying in pairs and taking off at a 30-second interval. Before long, the entire 300-man regiment was airborne and heading towards London, set to arrive at the Ministry at 16:45. They were in luck they had a favourable rear wind, and were equipped with the new Atlas II's. These had a heavier engine than their predecessors, boosting their top speed to 175mph.

If they had any hope of reaching the ministry before the wards on the DoM went down, they were disappointed quickly. At exactly 16:00, the wards, which protected the Department of Mysteries form unauthorised visitors, fell and Death eaters broke through the entrance.

Of course, the Head Unspeakable was not stupid. The moment the assault on his wards begun, he ordered every researcher to evacuate, and to prepare the fighting force to fend off the attackers. This force was not trained for all-out combat. They were bodyguards and intelligence operatives, with minor combat training under their belt, taught to avoid a fight unless necessary. A small contingent was ordered to prepare demolition charges, set to destroy artefacts and research that could be of any value to their attackers. It would be a true disaster if the Death Eaters were to get their hands on some of the more advanced time-turners, for example. The other troops, roughly twenty in number, were then ordered to erect barricades along several choke points in the department. They were finishing up when the wards fell, and the fight began in earnest.

The next half hour would be neigh impossible to describe in detail. Twelve Death Eaters, of whom half belonged to the inner circle, fought their way through the maze of rooms and corridors that made up the department of mysteries, heading towards the Hall of Prophecies. When they had finally taken a barricade, the defenders retreated to the next, and the process repeated. The fighting in the enclosed corridors was savage, and the Death Eaters were proving much more dangerous than their opponents in these close quarters. Bellatrix's knives were especially lethal in the twisting maze both sides found themselves fighting in, and step by step the security guards found themselves being pushed back against the onslaught.

At 16:30, with the reinforcements still fifteen minutes out, the attackers reached the hall of prophecies, and a cloaked figure was pushed forward. While the remaining Death Eaters kept security at bay, Lucius Malfoy cast another _Imperio_, followed by a _Renervate_.

"Sybil Trawleny, grab the prophecy which has your name on it from the shelf, then had it to me."

The Hogwarts professor, not strong enough to resist, complied with her orders, and did as she was told. The moment Malfoy closed his hands around the glass orb, she had no more use for him, so he disposed of her.

"We have what we came for! Retreat, Retreat!"

At that moment, the attack stopped, and the Death Eaters began to retreat. They had, however made the very same mistake that is almost impossible to avoid in urban warfare. The security troops that had been manning the barricades in the other areas, away from the way to the hall, had heard the battle and had moved in to retake the barricades their colleagues had been forced to retreat from. The result of this was that the Death Eaters, after fighting a way into the DoM, they now had to fight themselves a way out again.

This bought the Reinforcements time to arrive, and by the time the Death Eater Strike team exited the elevators and made for the exit, they were welcomed by a hail of spellfire from the vanguard of the reinforcing force, who had arrived an masse only minutes before and were now making their way towards the beleaguered security forces.

Once again, the Death Eaters ran into the department of mysteries, but this time not by choice. They were chased closely by Kingsley's forces and by 16:50 an uneasy stalemate had formed. The Death Eater strike team, which had by now dwindled to six ready to fight, had entrenched themselves in the room of Death, and rebuked all attempts to flush them out. It was, however, at this moment the situation got completely out of control.

The Death Eater strike team had managed to send a message to their lord, stating they were in possession of their objective, but were trapped by enemy forces. Voldemort immediately grabbed every man he could get his hands on, and personally led the relief force of roughly fifty men. The first to notice them was Sergeant Walker, who was in charge of the rearguard. His platoon had bunkered down in the atrium, split between the ground floor near the statue and the overlooking offices on the second floor. One moment he was enjoying a nice cup of tea, the next he was surrounded by cries of "Contacts!" and flying spells.

"Sir! It looks like they're trying to break out their colleagues!" One of his men yelled over the din.

"Hold position everyone! Stand your ground!" Sergeant Walker ran crouched through the spellfire towards the command post that had been set up at the western bank of elevators.

"Macorini", He called to his Italian wireless operator. "Get Shacklebolt on the line!"

It was at that moment when the troops, already holding on by the skin of their teeth, noticed the red-eyed, pale-skinned monstrosity that led the attackers. The dark lord was throwing spells powerful enough to level entire pieces of cover and fling men into the air like ragdolls.

"Shacklebolt! Riddle is here! He is ripping us apart, we... Oh Shi-!"

Sergeant Walker never got to finish his curse, because at that moment his command post was obliterated by an overpowered blasting hex from the Dark Lord himself. Walker and three others were killed or gravely injured, while the wireless operator was hurt, but able to continue his work. Command now fell to 20-year old Lance Corporal Williams, who had been injured in the battle of Little Hangington a year earlier. With admirable bravery and skill he began to re-organize a defence, but the enemy forces had already decimated his unit, and had reached the eastern elevators. While most of them continued down, a contingent remained behind to harass the tattered remains of the rearguard, and stop them from setting up blocking positions. Under this pressure, Williams buckled and retreated to the second floor, from where he could still fire upon the Death Eaters when they would exit through the atrium.

Kingsley received reports on the situation upstairs, and quickly took the only option he had left. He ordered his men to give way to the attacking force, while still trying to make them bleed as bad as possible. He knew he did not have the firepower to engage the Dark Lord directly in these enclosed spaces, and would not risk the lives of his men needlessly. Besides, the direct threat to the Department of Mysteries was gone, because it was clear Voldemort only wanted to get his people out. The delay caused by his forces to the advancing Lord Voldemort had one positive effect: By the time the trapped strike team met with their relief force, a large number of ministry workers, journalists and passerby's had gathered and saw, with their own eyes, the resurrected Dark Lord leading his triumphant army to the exit.

**AN: Well, I guess that was fifth Year. At first, I had planed Harry to lead his friends to the ministry, and even begun writing it as such, until I realised that I had already removed the Horcrux. Oops! Unfortunately that was not the only setback writing this chapter, as I have also learned that USB-drives are fickle things, and not keeping a backup is like literally taunting faith... As a final warning to you all, feel the need to tell you that the next chapter will be quite gory. War is hell, after all. Consider Yourselves warned!**


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The public reappearance of Voldemort was the killing blow for the Fudge administration, which was already under considerable pressure after the Sirius Black-debacle. Within twenty-four hours, Fudge was kicked from office, and an interim-government, led by Amelia Bones, installed. One of the first actions Minister Bones took was making the Armed forces official, and founding the Department of War and Defence. She was fully aware these actions put her and her niece near the top of Riddles hit list, but she was now able to actually do something about the threat to her person. Both for her personal safety, and to boost morale she moved to the barracks of the Armed Forces. This also made it easier to discuss matters with the military high command.

"Now that Riddle knows we are not going to be a walk-over, we need to increase our forces. The battle yesterday made it clear that we still have quite a way to go before we are able to beat him" Amelia said to the assembled officers.

"Therefore, I am considering conscription, or at least pushing more people to enlist. We need to build our forces." This caused some mixed reactions from the assembled soldiers.

Major Churchill agreed. "The reason there have been so few Aurors is that the training to be one is amongst the toughest in our world. It takes two years of physical training, an encyclopaedic knowledge of spells, curses, counter-curses, a proficiency in potions and a great deal of knowledge and skills in other fields. Very few sign up, and even fewer graduate. But all we need in our forces is an ability to follow orders, point a wand and cast a _reductor_. If we play our cards right, we might find ourselves with more than enough volunteers."

Squadron leader Tonks put forth her two cents. "While I do agree with Major Churchill, I would like to point out it would be better to work with volunteers instead of conscripts. When fuelled by the fires of patriotism, a man will fight twice as hard and be twice as loyal. All we need is a good recruitment campaign"

In the end it was decided to fill up the 23rd regiment to its full strength. Another regiment, the 13th would be made up of foreign volunteers, and be headed by Colonel Daniel Miller, who had previously held that rank with the Dutch Commando's. To prevent him outranking his British colleagues, the chain of command was bumped up a few notches. Churchill and Shacklebolt were promoted to Colonel and Captain, respectively. It was also decided to found two new squadrons, the 666th heavy fighter/bomber squadron and the 12th bomber squadron. They were to be outfitted with Lightnings and Marauders, respectively. These were grouped in the 1st (magical) wing, and to administer it, Amanda Biggleswoth was promoted to Wing commander. A large-scale recruitment campaign was to be launched as soon as possible, and Harry Potter was approached as a poster boy. Soon, 'Potter needs You!' posters were plastered throughout Diagon Alley and Hogsmead.

One of the people that saw the posers first was Oliver Wood. He had been training relentlessly the past few years, trying to make it as a quiddich player, when he saw the large posters. Oliver knew this was more important than quidditch, and offered more work. His career as a star player had not been going as smooth as he once had dreamt of, and perhaps it was time to reconsider his career choice.

Minister Bones was not the only one to meet with her commanders that afternoon. At Malfoy Manor, the field Headquarters of the forces of Lord Voldemort, the latter met with his inner circle.

"It appears the current ministry has, surprisingly, found the backbone to fight. This is unfortunate, because it means the planned silent takeover we have been working towards is no longer a viable option. It also means we have to re-organize our forces. For one, we need an aerial force. If the enemy has one, we need one too. Malfoy!"

The eldest Malfoy jumped a little, but still managed to answer with a barely audible shake in his voice. "Yes, My Lord?"

"You are in charge of this new division. Use your pull with the broom manufacturers you invested so heavily in to equip them."

"Yes, My Lord, it will be done."

"Good. Mulciber, You are in charge of 'external operations' working together with Dementors, Giants and Werewolves. Keep a tight leash on them, unless I tell you, then unleash their full fury." Mulciber bowed deeply, grateful for an assignment where he could intimidate powerful creatures, and watch the wreak havoc on those who opposed his lord.

"Lestrange, You are in charge of overall ground operations. We will meet later to discuss an exact chain of command."

Lord voldemort let his gaze sweep through the room.

"We'll need to launch a large recruitment drive amongst the pure- and Halfbloods." When he aid this there were some murmurs of discontent amongst his followers. He, however, continued undeterred. "If we can get them to do most of the actual fighting and dying, we'll be able to preserve the old bloodlines. Our goal will be to capture as much ground as possible and establish _De Facto_ rule over those parts. We can than gain control _De Jure_ in negotiations."

* * *

Harry cursed as he heard his pursuers. 'Damm', he thought, 'They're closer than I thought.' He redoubled his efforts, crashing through the sandy dunes in a desperate attempt to reach the treeline he saw five hundred yards away. With his pursuers so hot on his heels, he decided to pull into an all-out sprint. Unfortunately, he overlooked a partially-buried branch, and the last thing he thought as he felt himself het hit in the back was, 'And I thought this was going to be an easy summer…'

It had all started when Sirius had suggested Harry taking part in some military training of his own, in preparation of fighting Voldemort. He had thought it a great idea, but they had found few militaries willing to accept a sixteen year old. Finally, Daniel Miller had come up with a solution: Because Harry's guardian was citizen of the Magical Kingdom of the Netherlands, Harry was eligible for double nationality as well. And the Dutch armed forced do, as matter of fact accept people of that age. And because the ministry in The Hague had received a subtle hint from the unspeakables about how crucial Harry was, they were willing to overlook some age-related hurdles and allow him to partake in a shortened AMO, or General Military Training, that, instead of four months only took two.

Harry groaned as he was picked up by one of his instructors.

"Well done Potter! You set yourself a new record for evasion! Now, let's have lunch before we go on to the firing range!"

* * *

For the Brittish ministry next two months were rather slow, so to speak. As skirmishes between the two forces became more common, however the inevitable consequence of civil war took its toll. Along the faultlines of greed, jealousy and discord that ran in families, two sides formed. Father fought son, brother battled brother in the increasingly escalating conflict. Some families fought for the ministry, some for the pureblood movement, but practically each family had its dissenters.

It was in this environment that Wallace Goyle-Westington saw his opportunity. Ever since his grandfather had appointed not his father, son from his first marriage, but the current head of the Goyle family, his second son, the first from his second mariage as his heir, trouble had brewed in the family. Wallace saw this environment as the perfect chance to win the title that had, in his mind, been taken from him. If only he could use this situation to eliminate his Great-Uncle, the current head of the family, and his branch the title would revert to him.

The need from the command of the BMA to be the first one to strike against enemy strongpoints played directly in his hands. After that it was child's play for Wallace to direct the attention of BMA Command to Goyle Manor, especially after he gave them all the information they would ever want: layout, lay of the land, everything. The date for the attack was put on the 6th of September and an urgent request was sent to Black Armouries to supply a landing craft that could ferry more men than the standard Atlas.

* * *

Ezekiel Goldsmith hated this weather. The early morning fog made it absolutely impossible to keep an eye on 'his' section of the extensive grounds of Goyle manor. To add insult to injury, he had been called to his command station last night, due to increased enemy scouts in the air. As if _he_ could do anything about that from a ground-based position!

"Some more coffee, Ez?" Thomas Saxman asked his Lieutenant. The two men had been part of the army of 'Lord Voldemort' for almost two years now. Not that anyone would have guessed from their demeanour.

"Thanks, Sax. Another night wasted, all because some twit in the inner circle couldn't see the difference between twenty and two enemy brooms. Inbred idiot." Was the grumbling response.

Both men were good friends, perhaps because their reasons for joining were very similar. They had, fresh out of Hogwarts and, in Ezekiel's case, without even getting his NEWTS, married their sweethearts due to unexpected pregnancy. After the shock of sudden transition to married life had worn of, they had found themselves in need of a steady income to support their families. Because both came from impoverished pureblood families, with only their 'status' left to their name, familial support was right out.

Ezekiel didn't particularly care for the idea of 'pureblood supremacy'. His own father had proven to him that everybody, no matter how pure their blood, is liable to make mistakes. He disagreed with the idea of 'blood purity'. His wife was a half-blood, after all. He absolutely _detested_ the 'rape, pillage, burn' –tactics of the death eaters. He was a professional soldier, not a murderer or a terrorist, thank you very much. When asked for his reason to join, he always quoted his favourite smuggler, "I'm only in it for the money"; money he needed to support his wife and wonderful daughters.

The fact that he was not enamoured with the political ideas of his superiors, had, of course, limited his ability to rise through the ranks, and had kept him firmly rooted in the lower ranks, but he didn't mind. There were three main branches in the 'dark army': the (expanded) inner circle, the assault corps and the force of darkness.

The inner circle were the elite of the elite, the most loyal and capable dark wizards and witches, responsible for management, strategy and 'special operations', such as dementors or werewolves. The members wore distinctive silver face-masks and were, without exception, marked. If one of them joined you on a mission, it meant trouble and most often, sleepless nights. If one were to compare the army to Germany during the second world war, these would be the top administrators, like Himmler, Göbels and Goering.

Then, there were the assault corps. These men were always on the forefront of the attack, besieging strongpoints and pushing back the enemy yard by yard. Of the corps, which prided itself for its fighting mentality, about sixty percent wore the dark mark, mostly those in command positions. It's members were boastful, loud and rough when off-duty, but on the battlefield, they wore their pointed hat-annex-facemask (in KKK-style) and black (dragon)leather cloaks with pride as mark of the elite. They also didn't care about a few casualties more or less, civilian or otherwise. In our comparison, they would be the _Sturmtruppen_ or the SS.

Finally, there was the force of darkness, which contained all others, both the ground troops, or foot-sloggers, as well as the new broom corps, which had to face off against the revolutionary enemy air forces. In this branch, political idealism to 'the cause' was almost nonexistent, save for a few loudmouth individuals, or the high command. These individuals were, incidentally, often first to be 'honoured' with a transfer to the assault corps. The troops, mostly driven into the dark army by pragmatic need to survive, or at least not die from starvation, attempted to conduct themselves as professional as possible. They particularly detested hurting children; Most of them were fathers themselves. As an officious rule, children encountered on raids were disillusioned and told to run, if it was safe to do for the soldier in question.

Not that these troops saw much action to begin with, something which suited them just fine. They mostly partook in 'garrison duty', which meant guarding the death eater strongpoints, and were only called to action when high command ordered a major assault. Being only equipped with a hooded cloak with the dark mark embroidered on the left shoulder, and indicator of corps and rank on the left, they were ill-equipped to face off against the armoured soldiers of the DOWAD. These men would in our comparison be the _Heer_ and _Luftwaffe_.

"Well, Let's take one last look." Goldsmith said to nobody in particular. He picked up the omnoculars and looked out of the shielded window of his command post, sweeping left to right through the early morning fog. "Nothing, Still nothing, Nothing but trees and noth…"

His voice stuck in his throat, which had suddenly gone dry. Dark shapes were moving through the fog. They were vague, but the trained eye of Lieutenant Goldsmith recognised the distinctive shape of enemy transports, amassed together in greater numbers than he had ever seen before.

"Sax! The attack, they're here! They're here!" Sergeant Saxman immediately jumped up and cast a _Sonorus_ on himself while running to the barracks of the platoon that guarded this section, yelling all the way: "Battle stations, Battle stations! We're under attack! This is it! Battle stations! Wake up and man your posts!"

Ezekiel now looked nervously through his omnoculars. The fleet of approaching craft had seen them, and knowing that those you see can see you too, had begun to break formation, ready to attack. He gave up trying to get an exact count on the number of enemies, put down his omnoculars and picked up the mirror to notify his superiors.

"The attack! The enemy is here! There must be a thousand craft out there!"

"Easy, Goldsmith, easy. France, Britain and Germany together haven't even got half as many." He heard an aristocratic voice answer him, disbelief dripping of every word. Ezekiel silently cursed his luck in being stuck with this idiot of an Battalion Commander. Major Charles de Milet was a French aristocrat, enamoured with the idea of pureblood supremacy, hoping to learn the ropes in Britain to expand the movement to his native France. He looked down tremendously on all those ranking lower than him, and licked the heels of everyone above him. Safe to say, Ezekiel held little love for the man. The predictable happened; He lost his temper.

"If you don't believe me, well come out from behind the goddammed walls of that command bunker of yours and see for yourself! We need all the frigging reserves! Now!"

Once again, the major used that contending voice Ezekiel hated so much.

"And, my dear lieutenant Goldsmith, assuming you are correct. Where are these supposed craft heading?"

By now Ezekiel had completely lost it. He grabbed the mirror with both hands and yelled at the top of his voice: "RIGHT AT ME!"

Only a few moments later, the mirror shattered as the blasting orbs began to fall on the stone roof of his bunker. The noise was unbelievable, and the shockwaves threw him to the ground. Ezekiel didn't _like_ muggles per se (live and let live, was his motto), but he was very, very thankful they had invented the concept of a bunker. While he lay there, on the dirty, rubble-strewn floor, he thought of his girls, and he began to fear he might not make it out. The chime of his pocket mirror broke him away from those morbid thoughts.

"Goldsmith, Goldsmith, what is happening? Is something wrong?"

Oh, great. De Milet was once again demonstrating his penchant for asking the obvious. Ezekiel shouted back into the mirror to get over the noise, even though he was almost chocking from all the dust in the air.

"We are under fire! Yes, under fire! Those thousand craft, you said they couldn't have? Well, They've got them!"

Five long, eternal minutes later the hellish noise ended as suddenly as it had started, the blasts disappearing completely, being replaced by the moans of the wounded and their cries for help. Ezekiel steeled himself and looked outside through the settling dustclouds, which had been kicked up by the blasts that had transformed the rolling green hills in a cratered lunar landscape.

"Redoubt R4 to command. The bombardment has seized. Here come the landing craft."

He was answered not by the aristocratic voice of de Milet, but by a man from the Supporting artillery section.

"Command copies R4, stand by for fire support."

Inside the deep artillery bunkers close to the manor Potioneer first class Flynn ran to his piece carrying the last of the potions to be launched from the potionlauncers. These were new weapons, very closely related to muggle cannons. In fact they were so similar that at first the purebloods had refused to use the weapon. Only a direct order from Lord Voldemort himself had changed their mind.

Each launcher consisted of a metal tube inscribed with runes to make it frictionless. An explosive or incendiary potion was placed in the back, sealed with a wad of cloth soaked in dragon blood and launched with a banisher. The Banisher, overpowered by the blood, launched the potion for up to three miles. However, because the spell was unfocused the cloth was blasted back out, and a efficient battery always had a few wads in reserve.

The launchers were manned by a crew of four. Two casters to aim and fire the weapon, a commander who picked targets, and corrected their aim, and the potioneer, who was responsible for loading the weapon and placing the wad. A well-trained crew could, in theory, fire once every fifteen seconds. None of the crews at Goyle manor, however, were that experienced. The launchers had only been placed a week before and most of their crews had only fired two or three shots during practice. Both for the weapons and men, this would be a trial by fire.

"Flynn! Ah, there you are. Get her ready to fire!" Flynn's commander, Gunnery sergeant Blowhard barked to him. None on the crew really liked the strict and humourless man, but they had to deal with him.

"Sir! Explosive Loaded, Sir!" Flynn jammed the potion in the breech, the stuffed it with the dripping cloth. Most of the blood dripped into a basin, where it could be collected and re-used.

"Aim two-oh-six, Elevation plus two-five!" The two casters began levitating the heavy weapon into position, aided by the notches in the floor. When it came to precision, however, the men were forced to use their own muscles, because levitation charms didn't offer a high enough level of accuracy and control.

"Set!" One of them called, while the second one took his place at the breech, ready to launch his banisher into the cloth. For a second there was a pregnant pause, until a mirror on the wall spoke.

"All launchers may fire at will!"

This was followed immediately by the command from Blowhard.

"Fire!"

With a mighty crash and a cloud of purple smoke caused by reactions between the metal, the spell and the blood the potion was launched from the barrel at a speed of 200m/s and sailed towards the approaching landing craft. It missed by a good fifty yards.

"Load EX! Two right, point five up!" Came the correction from the Gunnery sergeant, and the crews began their first dance. It was a dance of death and destruction, one they would keep up all day to the music of explosives and shouted orders.

On board one of the landing craft Privates Scott and McPearson were doing their fifth final check of their equipment. These men part of the 1st battalion, A company, which consisted of three platoons. Each platoon had one RSCS, ant Scott and McPearson were responsible for the one of the second platoon. The A company would, together with the D company from 2nd battalion on their left, bite the bullet today.

The two companies, being made up predominantly of respectively Scots and Irish would arrive in combat with the T-2 Pegasus. These were the heavier versions of their older counterparts, based on the VW LT 28 lorry. Each craft had a canvas-covered flat bed and could carry 15 men, double of an Atlas. This increase in carrying capacity came at the cost of a lower speed, ceiling and manoeuvrability.

Out of the blue something whizzed past the transport, and exploded, creating the tell-tale puff of smoke of an AA-shell.

"What the fuck was that! I thought they couldn't hit us here!"

McPearson exclaimed while the craft was rocked by a second blast, closer this time. The pilot responded by weaving around, but there was only so much he could do. The fifth shell was the closest call, detonating close enough to blast a ragged hole in the canvas of the roof and showering the men with shrapnel. The not everybody was capable of handling the combination of the constant rocking of the craft from shellfire, the weaving of the pilot to avoid being hit and the nerves before going into a fight. Soon the cramped space was filled with the scent of urine and vomit, but no one spoke. Everybody was filled with their own thoughts, and throughout the craft private rituals took place. The man next to Scott fiddled with a rosary, his lips moving constantly in fervent prayer. Some were doing the same, others, like Scott, took one last glance at a picture of a wife, sweetheart, or their children. Finally their commander, Lieutenant McKinley stuck his head out of the back to peek at their destination.

"two minutes! Everybody stand!" He called out.

Everybody stood as well as he could, men weighed down with their kit and with stiff muscles from the three-hour flight. Manny shook hand with each other, there were a few patting each other's back, a 'good luck' to comrades who might not see dawn. But their faces showed no fear. They were past fear, and had gone to a place where only steely determination remained.

"One Minute!"

Everybody tensed. This was it, the moment of truth, the die was cast and the outcome now hung in the balance. Nervousness reigned. No one wanted to fail, to let his mates down, nobody wanted to be the one that made the mistake that got them killed, to fuck up. The ground seemed close enough to touch now, but to the soldiers that ground represented an entirely different world. A world of death, of fear, of pain. But when the wheels touched the ground and the call came, they went out nonetheless. Into the eye of the storm, a storm not everybody would make it out.

From the Pegasus the men emerged into the closest thing to hell on earth. Volley after volley of spells flew over their heads from the enemy bunkers as they stuck their heads as deep into cover as possible. Weather that cover was the remains of a fountain, destroyed by the initial bombardment, a tree that was knocked down or nothing more than a crater didn't matter. The RSCS-team ran out under fire, past a destroyed Pegasus that was billowing smoke and flame, searching desperately for shelter. They found some roughly a quarter of a mile from one of the bunkers. From the cover of what once must have been a ditch, Scott and McPearson began laying down fire on the enemy positions, but to little avail. The enemy fortifications were just too strong, and by their sustained fire they had just given the enemy a perfect target. They were forced to make themselves as small as possible when, with a screeching whistle, the enemy somehow lobbed explosives towards them. Scott took a direct hit and was literally blown apart, showering his colleague in bone fragments, brain matter and blood.

Twenty yards to their left Lieutenant McKinley was witness to an equally horrifying scene. One of his soldiers had been hit while trying to run from the cover of a fallen tree to the 'safety' of the ditch. The wounded man called for a Medic, and one responded quickly but was hit himself. It was a gruesome scene to see the two men lying there a few feet from eachother, crying in pain, before they both bled out and they finally went silent.

Still McKinley directed his men forwards. He knew that they had to keep moving, lest they all die here on this godforsaken stretch of land. He led by example, crawling form crater to crater until one of his men was close enough to lob a marker at one of the enemy bunkers. That caused a break for the men of the A-company, as the building was immediately destroyed by a flight of Lightning attack brooms from the 666 Sqn, who were on station for exactly these occasions.

These Lightnings were, as uncontested fact, ugly. The first thought Squadron Leader Oliver Wood had when he first saw them was that it looked like three brooms and a dragon had a mid-air collision and some parts stuck. The 'broom' consisted of a half shaft which, by means of two large dragonhide triangles, was attached to two outlying brooms. These triangles were tilted slightly upwards to offer a better protection for the pilot.

But when the technicians had shown him the firepower of the design, Wood had gone silent. Each lightning could carry four Heavy Blasting orbs, each the size of a crystal ball and full of magic ready to explode, or twenty-four AAP's, be they anti-dementor or signature-guided. Even if they had expelled this payload, the craft also offered the firepower of two battlewands like those on the Hurricane and one Heavy Battlewand, which was twice as powerful and could literally fire _though_ most walls. On the battlefield, it was a force to be reckoned with.

But it could not win fights on its own. Despite all the advantages in technology the BMA had, it was useless in a fight against dug-in, determined defenders. In the close quarters of the trenches that the Dark Army had used, air support was next to useless and it became a fight from man to man, in which the bayonets on the new battlewands proved just as useful as cutting curses. By late afternoon, the troops had finally located the unknown enemy that had been killing them from afar and directed two airstrikes at the potionlaunchers. Not wanting to do things by half, the pilots from 666 Sqn. brought down Goyle manor on top of its defenders.

But still they persisted, fighting liked trapped tigers with no hope of escape. It was only when the sun was sinking behind the horizon, bathing the battlefield in a red glow, that the last of the fighting died down. By now, the battlefield was soaked in blood, and in no way resembled the pleasant green gardens it had been that morning. Discarded equipment and intestines lay strewn around, proof that reductors at close range make a right mess, and stretcher-bearers walked around on the blood-soaked field searching for wounded that could be saved, and offering overdoses of morphine to those that couldn't. Finally, the two commanders met face to face, when a dirty, bleeding and exhausted Ezekiel was led before Kingsley by two members of hid security detail. The former threw the best salute he could muster with his left arm in a sling.

"Captain Goldsmith, A company, 101 battalion, Army of Darkness. Sir, I hereby formally surrender my men into your care."

Kingsley nodded, and returned the salute.

"Colonel Shacklebolt, 23rd regiment, DOWAD. I accept your surrender. You will be treated as prisoners of war, and we'll take care of your wounded." He continued with a surprised tone. "Are you really the ranking officer? I'm asking because the force we encountered seems a little large to be led by a Captain."

Ezekiel let out a humourless laugh. "Oh, we had a Major in charge alright. Turned tail and fled the moment he felt the fight got to close. This morning, we had three companies and I was still a lieutenant. Got promoted in the field when Captain Davies got killed, and seeing as the other captains died as well, that makes me ranking officer."

* * *

That night, the tired army camped out amongst the ruins of the destroyed manor, while medical teams laboured tirelessly throughout the night to save as many of the wounded as possible. The tired troops got little rest either. At ten, the first wave of enemy brooms, the A wing of 1st squadron attacked the encampment. They were followed half an hour later by the B and C wings of the same squadron, and the A and D wings of 2nd squadron, a total of fifteen brooms. While their Meteors were not of the same quality as the Hurricanes and Lightnings of DOWAD, their pilots handled the modified Comet 9's expertly. By 22:45 however, the task of the attackers was made a whole lot more difficult with the arrival of the entire 707 squadron. Squadron leader Tonks led the red and blue elements, while Squadron leader Biggelesworth commanded the green and gold elements. Unfortunately, they had just returned from a strike against the dark fortress of Azkaban, and were all out of guided weapons.

707th arrived from an altitude of 12000 feet, and the pilots were all struck by the scene they happened upon. Beneath them huge mounds of flame, caused by the incendiary potions the Meteors had dropped, illuminated running figures. The air was filled with streaks of light, shooting up and down through the night sky and occasionally illuminating dark figures flying around at high speed, causing chaos and destruction where they passed.

"Tally ho! Bandits eleven o' clock low. Red, blue, break to attack!" Tonks command was echoed by her second-in-command, and a few seconds later, the skilled pilots of DOWAD dived down upon their adversaries of the dark army air force like a hawk on a pigeon. After the first two turns, all unit cohesion on both sides was lost, and the battle became a deadly dogfight, a one-on-one brawl.

"Blue three, Anybody, get him of me!" Tonks heard the panicked voice of one of her pilots over her headphones, just as she saw him pass by, two Meteors hot on his tail. She began pursuit.

"Blue three, Meteor, Break right, break right!"

Fortunately, her fellow pilot did as she called, and the moment he pulled his broom to the right sharply, she had a clear shot and fired. One enemy broom broke up in a cloud of splinters sending the pilot screaming on his way down. She didn't even have time to feel sorry for him, because she heard a warning being shouted to her.

"Red leader, Meteor on your six!"

She was about to turn around to check, when a streak of blue light to her right barely missed her. She cursed and pulled her broom in the steepest curve she could manage. The pull was tremendous. Of course, she had been told about G-forces, but never had her training put her through something like this. She felt consciousness slip away and darkness form around the edge of her vision.

And then it was over. A dark shade zoomed past her in the blink of an eye, she accelerated and the feeling was gone. In front of her were two brooms hot on each other's tail. She recognised the later as gold two.

"Red leader, Gold two, thanks for the help."

Gold two didn't respond immediately, but first launched a lance of blue spellfire at its prey. The enemy broom exploded in a massive fireball. The pursuing Hurricane tried to dodge the flames, but was too late and flew straight through the fire. When it came out on the other side, the broom was smoking and the tail was spitting flames. It was losing height rapidly.

"Gold two, Gold two, bail out! Hit the silk!"

She saw her fellow pilot untangle himself from the crashing broom, falling freely from the heavens for a second, before the parachute opened and he began his slow decent towards the ground. She didn't see him land though, because another target came in front of her sights. And another, and another. Until, after almost an hour of uninterrupted fighting, the remaining Meteors broke off and turned away in the direction they came from. The Hurricanes did not pursue, too exhausted to even think of following. Only then did Tonks assemble the remaining Hurricanes and led them to a hastily prepared emergency field a mile away from the manor.

She climbed off her broom, and immediately saw it had been in battle. There were scorch marks on the shaft, the tip of the 'chinlet' had been shot off and one of the dragonhide triangles was more rag than leather now. Despite the cold air, she was soaked in sweat, and at the ops room of the emergency field, which was nothing more than a tent, she met her fellow pilots. They, too, were drenched in sweat, and several were shaking so bad they couldn't even light their own cigarettes. Tonks tried to be helpful and light the one of her fellow plot, but she found that she, too, couldn't keep her hands steady. They just stood there, silently, watching broom after broom come home, everybody counting, and every Hurricane home caused another sigh of relief. Not all came home that night, though.

When dawn came over the battlefield, Search and Recovery teams found the wreckages of eight Meteors, most belonging to the 1st Squadron C wing, which lost all four craft that evening. Only two enemy pilots survived the crashes, both were injured and taken prisoner One of them was the leader of 2nd squadron, Ernest von Rabentopf. But the victory had not come without a cost. The teams also found the debris of four Hurricanes, and a fifth one limped home but was so heavily damaged it had to be scrapped. One pilot was able to bail out and was recovered, as well as the remains of two other pilots. They were buried later with full military honours. The last pilot was listed as missing in action, and no body was ever found.

**AN: An so we enter Harry's sixth year with a bang. Although from now on out I'll be focussing more on the War that's happening, instead of school life. This is mostly because both sides are sticking to open warfare, and Hogwarts is not a viable target for Riddle at this time. But mostly because with competent adults at the helm, a teenaged boy has no place in a war.**


	12. Chapter 11

The aftershocks of the battle of Goyle manor were felt throughout the British isles. Forty-two death notifications were delivered to the families of the ministry combatants, while an additional thirty-four men were sent home to heal. On the other side of the fence there were thirty-three fatalities, Fifty-one were made Prisoners of war, and forty-one were missing in action, either dead and unidentifiable or still out there and trying to make it to friendly lines.

Even Hogwarts wasn't left untouched, as several students received letters stating they had lost parents, uncles, family, and were required to attend the funerals. Other than that, however, the school continued as it normally would: Students went to class, teachers assigned homework and Dumbledore sucked on lemon drops.

The only significant change was that the remains of A-Company from 1st Battalion were now stationed at the castle for some well-earned rest. Besides, as a garrison they made a good deterrent, and served to pacify worried parents. The generals of the BMA figured, quite rightly, that Hogwarts would not be attacked unless Riddle was really desperate. Its defences were too formidable, and even ungarisoned it would require a massive army to capture it, for little strategic gain. True, the castle was a significant building and capturing it would be a morale boost, but wars are hardly won by moral victories. No, the castle would be safe until Voldemort was willing to commit his entire army.

* * *

In a conference room in London, three floors below the ground, the high command of the British Magical Army was assembled. The meeting had been called by the Unspeakables that ran he Special Reconnaissance Unit, and the person to speak was Romeo, head of the department of Mysteries.

"Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen. I called you all here today because I have very good news. In the briefing you have all read about Horcruxes, correct?"

There was a murmur of affirmatives throughout the room, and several opened the dark blue folders with 'TOP SECRET' stamped on them.

"As explained on pages 12 until 36, we are using the theory of magical resonance to locate these fragments of Riddles soul. It is with distinct pleasure that I can announce that we have managed to locate three pieces so far. The first is located along the coast of southern England, close to the Isle of Wright as described on page 38. The second fragment was detected In diagon alley, presumably inside Gringott's or Borgin and Bukes, detailed on page 40. The final piece has been found in the midlands, near the village of Little Hangington, for details see page 44. Now that we know of these locations, we need a plan of action. Any thoughts?" He asked the assembly.

"We must attack in force, commit all available troops into battle." Spoke General Churchill. He had been a proponent of the 'overwhelm the enemy in numbers' doctrine of the Hit-Wizards, and it certainly showed. "If we strike with enough force, we can bleed the enemy dry defending those points."

He was interrupted by Colonel Miller. "I don't think that's a good plan minister Bones. If we strike with small groups of highly trained personnel, like the commando's that the Dutch government has sent to support us, or the Special Magical Service of your own government. To commit our entire force would be reckless. If we strike silently and unseen, he won't notice his missing Horcruxes until it is too late. Else he might just produce more!"

His last argument, however, was swept away by Romeo. "Actually, Colonel Miller, he can't. I do hope he tries, as it would rid us of the problem, but he has stretched his soul to breaking point. My department has produced a graph illustrating the Holtzman-resonance on magically interconnected objects to demonstrate, on page 33. Of course, we didn't have seven shards of a soul lying around, so we used communications mirrors instead as a model. As you can see, the more interconnected instances of an object exist, the more unstable the connection and the instance itself are. The amount of magic required to stop the connections and objects collapsing in on themselves in a resonating cascade failure grows exponentially as the number of instances increases and more and more energy needs to be kept in synchronised state. To create an ninth piece would require magic far over the Hammerstein threshold."

The whole room was looking at him in various stages of wonder, and several were doing pretty good imitations of goldfish. Romeo sighed; Nobody ever understood him!

"If he makes any more Horcruxes, he dies."

A look of understanding passed through the room. Most of these men were soldiers, and didn't need to know the how's and why's, they just needed to know where their country needed them. _How_ their country needed them, however, became a heated debate, and the room was quickly divided into two camps. The first, headed by Colonel Miller, advocated the capture and destruction of the horcruxes in swift, smash-and-grab commando raids. This, they argued, would put a minimum of personnel at risk, and minimize the chance that Riddle figured out what was up. On the other hand, the camp of general Churchill believed a large-scale, combined operation would be most effective. It would either bleed Riddles forces, should he commit them to secure his treasures, or scare him into making another horcrux, killing him and decapitating the enemy command structure.

In the end, a compromise was reached: as long as intelligence believed Riddle was in the dark about their operations, they would stick to commando raids, not letting him know that they knew about his anchors. The moment, however, it became apparent he figured out what was going on, they would commit large sections of their forces.

The last part of the meeting focused on an expansion of the 23rd regiment, by adding a 3rd battalion, 200 men strong, including a company of engineers and an artillery company. This last unit would use Black-improved potionlaunchers, now capable of firing standardised cartridges, which improved rate of fire to 6 rounds a minute, in optimal conditions.

* * *

To the surprise of absolutely everybody in the command of the BMA, there were no signs of enemy resistance at the site of the Horcrux located at the seaside, near a landmark known as the 'wuthering cliffs'. Therefore, it was selected as the target for the first 'smash-and-grab' horcrux pickup, with the added bonus that it might give an idea of what kind of protections had been established around the horcruxes in general. The unit that would take the field against whatever defences Voldmort had installed would be the men of Britain's best: 23 SAS, Whiskey squadron, also known (if only to a very select few) as Her Majesties Special Magical Service. This elite group of wizards had been part of the British armed forces since the founding of the SAS, since several of the magical tricks that brought with them, such as invisibility cloaks and veritrasium, were extremely useful to use in the special forces.

And so it was that Talbot Grey, the retired owner of the nearby lighthouse, had his night's rest interrupted by a knock on his door. So he climbed out of bed, stumbled down the stairs and opened the door to answer a young man in uniform holding a military identification.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you, sir, but my commanding officer has send me to ask if we could use your barn for tonight. It's a matter of national security."

Grey took a long, pained look at the identification, released a long sigh, and finally grumbled: "All right then. Here's the key to the barn. Try not to make a mess of things."

Before the fresh-faced NCO could thank him, the grumpy old man had thrown the door shut, stumbled back upstairs, crept back in bed, and went to sleep, leaving the young soldier to proudly report to his officer that he had secured permission to use the barn as a temporary base of operations.

In the seclusion of the borrowed barn, the men of W squadron prepared themselves for their decent to the seaside cliff. It had been flagged as the most likely hiding point, seeing as the horcrux showed up a dozen meters away from the shoreline.

They made it into the cave by rappelling down the cliff. Even though they did not encounter any traps or resistance yet, they were moving very carefully. This was the hiding place of an extremely important object for an extremely dangerous man, so it was better not to take a chance. When the men reached a dead end, a swift breach charge took care of the gateway. Lieutenant Winters led his twelve-men strong force onto the small dock.

"Look, sir! Bodies!" one of the men called out, pointing at the water. Every man pointed his weapon at the floating shapes, but when they failed to act, many relaxed. They figured they would not move unless the water was disturbed. Winters turned his attention to the ghostly green glow at the back of the cave.

"Well, you've got to give the man points for style, following the _villains handbook_ to a tee. Not too smart though, having a bright light show us where to go."

The unit's infiltration expert, Sergeant Bahram, agreed with his CO.

"true, Sir. But his main aspect has always been power, both in output and endurance. He might be dangerous now, but gods forbid someone with his power _and_ a brain shows up. I mean, If he were really smart, he'd have hid this somewhere physically unreachable, like the bottom of the sea, instead of making it easy for us."

"well, Bahram. Why don't you see if you can create a way to that island for us?" Winters asked his Indian Sergeant. These kind of things were exactly why he had requested the Sergeant to be added to this operation. Bahram's nickname was 'solid snake', which had to do with the way he could manipulate ropes. His family had been friends with a family of fakirs, and had been the finest producers of magical ropes in India for generations. Due to the fact that the rope he was using tonight was a family heirloom, it reacted much better to his wishes than a new rope would. Most fakir's could only make a rope stand up: Bahram could make it slither around like a snake before having it turn stiff enough to walk on. Minutes later, a rope bridge was in place over the water.

The teams had made it to the other side when they found something odd: the ripped remains of clothing and a mummified, severed arm still clutching a wand, a golden locket wrapped around its wrist. One of the men picked it up and opened it, and found it was stuffed with a vengeful note signed R.A.B. It seemed that, whoever this person was, he'd been unable to replace the horcrux with his decoy, but had died trying. The disinterested soldier dropped the locket. Which bounced off a rock. Then it hit another rock, before it disappeared into the dark water with a small splash. All hell broke loose.

Winters saw the undead begin to rise from their watery graves, but where a lesser man might have panicked, the experienced officer kept his cool.

"CONTACT! Form a circle, back to back! Incendiary only! FIRE!"

While lieutenant Winters and the rest of the team kept the soulless undead at bay the best they could, Troopers Daniel Foster and Michael Reeds were sent to find a way to recover the locket from the basin. After a few minutes of fumbling, and finding vanishing the potion didn't work –the liquid was apparently meant to be drunk- their lieutenant became impatient.

"Foster, Reeds!" he yelled over the spellfire, while simultaneously dispatching a flaming inferius. "I didn't ask you to move it to a museum, for Pete's sake! Just blow it off its pedestal, if need be!"

Three explosions and a few sharp cracks later, the contents of the basin were spilled over the floor, and Foster grabbed the soulpiece before announcing they had the objective. They went over the rope bridge fighting, working to exhaustion to keep walls of fire up to hold the vile creatures at bay. Three agonising minutes later, all were back where they had started, and began moving to the exit. Fortunately, the inferi did not pursue.

**AN: Score one for the good guys!**

**Seriously though, I'm sorry this comes so late. At the moment, my problems in writing this are two-fold. First (and most importantly) I'm suffering from a massive lack of time, between a research project which had to be re-done twice because data didn't cooperate, academic reading for various subjects, and a girlfriend whom I can only see in the (free/writing-time) weekends because she studies in a different town. My second problem is a combination of writer's block for this story (though I have some later chapters, and even a tie-in one-shot nearly done, what's supposed to go in between just won't come), while I have an overflow on inspiration for other projects, both Fanfic and original. If this chapter comes off as slightly rushed, that's probably the reason. Rest assured though, I'm not going to abandon this! After all, what kind of writer let's go of a project the moment it gets tough?**


End file.
